The Hawk and Her Hero
by Collier World
Summary: Their fathers used to hate one another. Their names are both famous, albeit for different reasons. He just likes Quidditch, while she's good at school. She hates him. He doesn't know why. It only took two minutes for everything to change forever.
1. Preface

**I'm relatively known for being a decent writer. I'm notoriously infamous for my tendency to abandon stories. Unfortunately, I feel you may become far more acquainted with the latter than the former. Nevertheless, here we are.**

**Consider the matter disclaimed. I'm usually darker than this, but complaints over the rating will always be taken into consideration.**

**Preface**

They began differently.

He was the son of the most famous wizard of their age and a renowned Quidditch star. She was the daughter of a disgraced coward and a beautiful Healer who somehow came to love him only across years of courtship.

He took after his father, in that he didn't like to follow all of the rules, was smarter than he looked, and expressed something incredibly unlike anything imaginable when he was mounted on a broomstick and soaring through the air. He took after his mother, in that he refused to back down and he fought for what he believed in, whether there was a mountain at his back or a desert emptier than a dementor's heart.

She didn't take after either of her parents. Her father was a reserved, quiet, ashamed man who rarely went out unless needed, who worked his share and said no more than necessary to anyone he didn't know; she was driven by the success she didn't see in him, the success she knew she could be. She had none of the patience and understanding of her mother. Instead, she was quick, clever, hasty, and never second-guessed a single decision she made.

His brother was a first-overall draft pick out of Hogwarts, on the heavy track to being the best, a rival that had loomed over him and brought out the best in him ever since they were very young. Her brother was an unsung hero, unfairly thrust beneath the burden their family carried and who was expected to bear it all, so that she would have none of it and could succeed in her own way, without any of the level of the maturity he had grown up young with.

The greatest goal of his schooling years was to fix the hitch in his throwing motion; he hoped that with any success he could cut the number of quaffle drops of his sixth year in half, and really draw the eyes of some next-level scouts. The greatest goal of her schooling years was to learn how to turn into a hawk, master the art of creating Felix Felicis, and pass her early enrollment in alchemy.

His greatest love was a game played hundreds of feet in the air.

Hers was books.

He was offered a wide variety of alternate-gender companionship, and he indulged once and a while where it met his fancy.

She was offered a considerably more limited supply, through no fault of her attractiveness, and took what she was given without complaint.

He was her brother's best friend.

She was his sister's archenemy.

He was fierce, loyal, kind, dedicated, and devious.

She was clever, careful, obedient, and quiet.

In the end, however, there was one thing they had in common: they were both inspired by their fathers, albeit in different days. He was motivated by Harry Potter's courage. She was motivated by Draco Malfoy's shame.

She hated him.

He never understood what he'd done to her.

And that, if ever there was a tale worth telling, is where our story begins.


	2. Chapter 1

**Certain social liberties are taken.**

**1**

It was August. He hated August. August was a clever way to describe 31 days between when the bliss that no school always gave him burned out and the satiating relief the beginning of the quidditch season brought. He counted down the seconds in August. 2678400, 2678399. Only 2678394 to go. He could make it. He once scored 53 goals in a twenty-three minute match. He could wait 2678386 more damn seconds.

"AAAAAAAllllllllbbbbuuuuusssss."

14-year-old sisters. Goodness to God, sometimes he could just kill her.

"Albus, you've been in there for like thirty minutes... not even a _girl_ spends that long in the shower."

"I'm not showering, piggy," he called back through the closed and locked bathroom door, easing the breath from his lungs. Even after the thirty-six minutes that his sojourn in the bath tub had really been, the majority of the ice floating throughout the bathwater remained solid. Long ago, he'd become immune to the chill an ice bath caused him and much more comfortably adjusted to the muscular relief it offered instead. The shortness of breath, however, was something he wasn't sure he could ever become accustomed to. "It's four o'clock in the afternoon, who showers at this hour, anyway?"

"Who takes a bath?" she shouted back, pounding on the door. "Open the hell up."

He groaned, and braced his arms on the rim of the bathtub to lift himself out of the tub. Despite having done the very same action hundreds of times before, he still shuddered as he heaved his body out of the freezing water, cold air grating his wet skin as it emerged. As he stepped out of the tub he pulled the plug from the base of the tub, allowing the water to drain away. Predicting his sister's complaints minutes before he would actually hear them, he grabbed his wand from the sink counter and murmured a light heating charm against the tub exterior. A piece of magic not serious enough to get his underage ass in trouble yet able to melt the ice faster before Lily came after him for leaving his mess behind.

He glanced at himself in the mirror briefly as he reached for a towel. Green eyes stared back at him from within a lean face. His cheeks were stretched across his skull, but more appropriately muscled behind the weathered color that hours on a broom had given his face. His nose, although it had been broken more than a few times, remained straight—rather as thought it had been repaired multiple instances by magical assistance—and his sharp black eyebrows jutted out and came to an abrupt halt beyond his eyelids in a manner he knew both to be comforting and intimidating, depending on who he was talking to. Despite being wet, his unruly black hair utterly refused to even offer a hint of cooperation. It jutted outwards and upwards and any-other-way-wards that were not what he desired. Long ago, he had learned to just leave it be. There was no sorting it out.

"Albus!"

He sighed, stooping over to toss the sweaty clothes he had discarded on the floor into the small, bottomless hamper in the corner of the bathroom with his name on it, sandwiched between identical ones bearing the names of his sister and older brother. He knew his mother would give him an earful later about making the house elf do his laundry when he was old enough to do it himself, as she always did. He would reply that they paid the house elf to do the laundry, which would earn him a jelly-legs jinx—as it always did. Shaking his head at the inevitability of his life, he wrapped the towel around his waist and went to open the door.

"Finally!" Lily exclaimed as he pushed past her. "You're worse than me and Mum combined! You're almost as bad as James!"

"Says the girl that locks herself in her room for ten hours anytime someone badmouths a house-elf…"

"I'm telling Kippy you said that!"

"…And then whines to them every time her brother is trying to make a point!" Albus proceeded to ignore her and continue the short walk down the narrow hall to his room. He neglected to slam his door only because his mother had a freakishly magical tendency to appear right next to him whenever he did, which would only earn his an additional tongue-lashing.

He sighed and glanced about his room, tossing his wand atop his unkempt bed. Almost every inch of wall was either covered with Quidditch posters or newspaper articles, most about Quidditch and some about innovations in the world of magic. Overstuffed bookshelves lined his southern wall to the left of the door, while the floor on the western wall, beneath his lone window and next to his bed, was cluttered with a wide array of textbooks, parchment rolls, and quills. Next to his Harpies-bedspread bed, his dresser stood, its drawers pulled out wildly in a significant manner of disarray. Clothes littered the ground, a pile on which propped his broomstick, where he'd unceremoniously tossed it after returning from his workout.

Albus quickly dried himself with the towel before tossing it to join the rest of the mess on his floor. He quickly pulled on boxers, socks, and some jeans, belting them and looking with dismay at his side. The bruise from the bludger James had knocked at him during their weekly brotherly practice a few days ago was still as purple near his left hip, and a brief prod of the finger proved to him that it still hurt, too.

"Oh, well," he said aloud to himself. At least it looked cool. _It's not like he wasn't supposed to be hitting 'em at me, and this is exactly why I'm out practicing with the best under-twenty beater in the league_.

He glanced at the ticking clock hanging on the wall above his desk on the fourth wall, the door wall. Just staring at it reminded him of all the extra schoolwork he was supposed to be completing over the summer, all the schoolwork he'd yet to start—all the schoolwork that stood between him and Quidditch.

He groaned to himself as he pulled a white shirt on beneath a red polo labeled with a small yellow Gryffindor lion. It wasn't like he _hated _schoolwork or anything; he enjoyed Transfiguration and had an affinity for Ancient Runes. He was extremely good at it, actually, when he allowed himself to admit it, as his friends were constantly reminding him. He could hardly pass a day without being conned into a clever remark by Scorpius, after which he would immediately pay for it by being forced to, if not completely finish the bastard's essay, play a very large part in constructing his best friend's hasty conclusion. For some reason, though he was nearly as smart as Albus and equally as mischievous, Scorpius couldn't find it in himself to concentrate long enough to write a three-foot essay.

Albus shook his head and turned his back on the schoolwork, trying to forget it was there. He plucked his wand from his bedside and checked the clock a final time before trudging out of his room. Passing the bathroom doors—which were still closed and locked tight, he noted with annoyance—it was a short leap down the stairs to the sitting room, where he found his mother with a quill stuck between her teeth, staring intently and uselessly at a text-ridden piece of parchment before her.

"Still can't figure out what to say about O'Laughlin's backhand?" he asked teasingly as he approached.

She looked up at him and grunted without opening her lips. "The bugger's form is the worst I've seen since my playing days, but somehow the quaffle always goes where he wants. How? I just can't bring myself to accept it…"

"The game changes, Mum," he chuckled, leaning over her work to peck her cheek. "I'm going to get Scorpius. We're going over to the Heights for a bonfire tonight."

As he pulled back, he found himself beneath her glare, one of her menacing eyebrows raised. "Excuse me?"

He sighed inwardly but dared not show open defiance. "I mean, may I please go to Scorpius' and then to a bonfire tonight on the Heights?"

"Better," she replied, her eyes returning to her work. "I _assume _the host's parents will be home while this bonfire is happened." Albus groaned, and her voice only grew sterner. "Will there be alcohol there?"

"No, Mum…"

"If there is, I expect you to come straight home."

"…straight home," he toned with her. "I know. Seriously, I'm of age now. I'm able to make my decisions about where I want to go, you know. And you can stop badgering me about it like you're a Hufflepuff. I'm responsible enough to know what to do in those situations. Besides, if I _really _wanted to, I'm old enough to drink it now legally anyways."

"And get suspended from the Hogwarts team immediately thereafter," his mother snapped. "Dash all your dreams about a professional Quidditch career!"

Albus shrugged. "It never stopped James."

Her glare was back with a vengeance. He couldn't help it; he cowered, wilted, and all but fell to his knees beneath it. "Your brother was more than punished for his juvenile irresponsibilities. You just pray your father and I never find you at the same, Albus Severus, or I won't think twice about turning my son in for his actions this time."

"That's preferential treatment," he protested.

"That's me not making the same mistake twice! And while you live under my roof, you will obey my rules." She sighed, and then her voice and expression both softened. "Where's this bonfire at, then?"

He grinned at her. "Lucy Evick's house. And her parents will be there, by the way. She seemed really bummed out about that when she sent out invitations. No alcohol: her dad's a lawyer, and she's still underage."

"All right, then," she relented reluctantly. "Your father's working late, anyway, so I hadn't planned on anything special for dinner. I think Lily's going out with her friends later, too."

Albus walked back to her and kissed her cheek again. "Thanks, Mum."

"Be home by midnight," she called after him as he walked out of the room.

"One o'clock?" he questioned hopefully.

"Midnight."

"Twelve-thirty?"

"Midnight."

"You're a saint, Mum."

"Eleven-thirty."

Albus wisely chose to bite his tongue and left their house before any more damage could be done. He made the short cobblestone walk down towards the busy muggle street from their quaint seemingly-non-magical home with a picket fence and halted for a moment on the sidewalk. It was a beautiful day in his neighborhood. The sun was just beginning to near the horizon in the west, and the air had adopted a dry and comfortable coolness in the light breeze. The elderly muggle woman who lived across the street waved pleasantly at him from her garden and he waved back, shouting a brief greeting before sticking his hands in his pockets and trudging away up the street.

The Malfoys lived, surprisingly, only about seven blocks away from the Potters. From the stories they'd always been told growing up, James and Albus had always found this strange, seeing as their fathers had been the closest thing they knew to mortal enemies when they were growing up and in-school. This, in-turn, had led to James' shock and Albus' delight when Scorpius had been sorted into Gryffindor house their first year at Hogwarts, subsequently becoming Albus' best friend. Neither of them had really understood the animosity between their fathers, anyway, after they'd come to know one another: perhaps it was just that they had been sorted into different houses as first years, whereas Albus and Scorpius had been fortunate. Either way, it was a given that neither of them could've gotten through the first six years of their magical education without each other. Well... they probably could have, but it wouldn't have been nearly as much fun...

Albus spent the twenty minutes murmuring to himself about Quidditch statistics, up to the moment he inconspicuously tapped his wand against the magical gate of the Malfoys' spacious, if not entirely extravagant, home. Recognizing his presence, the gate unlocked with a hissing click, and then opened inward without prompt. After he slipped through the gap, they slid shut again with the same sound.

He walked up to the large door of the wide, two-storied white building. For such a quiet family–except, of course, for their ostentatious son–Albus had always been surprised they owned such a large house. As he always did, after spending a moment marveling over its size, he rapped his knuckle against the strong wood once, which once again recognized his unique presence and opened at his command. He tapped the door a few more times loudly to politely announce his presence to the Malfoys, and then stepped into the hall.

Almost immediately, a pristine house-elf clothed in what was apparently a toga popped into existence as he was wiping his feet on the mat. It squeaked upon seeing him, and jumped nearly its own body height in the air. "Master Potter, sir! A pleasure that Latch is seeing you again, sir!"

"Hi, Latch," Albus replied with a friendly grin. He'd always liked the Malfoys' head house-elf, even if the little creature was unchangeably terrified of him. "Is Scorpius home? We were gonna meet up here before we went up."

Latch was already leaning over Albus' feet, untying his shoelaces. Albus couldn't repress his sigh of annoyance at the house-elf's needless toils. _There's a reason Aunt Hermione made it illegal to enslave you, mate... so you could _stop _acting like a misstep would get you executed._

"Yes, s-sir," the house-elf trembled, helping him step out of his shoes, picking them up and dusting them off desperately. "Master Scorpius is in his room, I believe, sir."

"Thanks," Albus said cheerily, conveying with every fiber of his being that he was not plotting murder on the cute little thing. "I'll see you later."

As if it were a threat, Latch gave a little cry of dismay. "Yes, sir. Latch will see you later, sir."

He managed to make it to the large spiral stair that curved into the wall and led to the second floor before he shook his head. _Poor thing_.

He was halfway across the landing towards the closed door to Scorpius' room when the bathroom door on his left opened and a person darted out quicker than he had time to stop. They collided, throwing Albus off-step and the pother erson into the wall from which they had just come.

The head of the person–the girl–snapped up, glaring at him with furious green eyes. Between wet threads of hair that had evidently just been washed, Rhystara Malfoy made Albus suddenly wish he was in a Russian gulag with a snapped wand.

He braced himself for the inevitable onslaught as she crossed her arms over her chest and scoffed. "Watch where you're going, Potter."

A year younger than Scorpius, Rhysta had nevertheless struck Albus as the much more mature and inflexible one out of the Malfoy siblings. He was easily a half-foot taller than her, but whenever they had altercations–which were always negative, by the way–she, sometimes literally, found a way to look down upon him from an unprecedented height of chastisement. He couldn't even remember the thing he had done in the first place to make her hate him. Ever since her first year, his second, starting from her inaugural ride on the Hogwarts Express, whenever he was around Scorpius she was at his throat. On more than one occasion, she had actually forced him to retreat in sudden anxiety, brandishing a wand and sending hexes at his back. On the other hand, in those instances, the teasing he and her brother had given her may have warranted the attacks...

Thank Merlin she was in Slytherin, though, so he could at least _try_ to avoid her.

In the current moment, Albus, who was in no mood to quarrel, simply sighed. "Really, Rhysta? We both know that wasn't on me, and I was actually about to apologize before you said something."

"Trolls don't know how to apologize," she snapped at him, pushing her lithe body off of the wall and stalking past him.

"Yeah, but banshees should know how to walk!"

"Banshees fly, git!" She slammed through her bedroom door without honoring him with a returned glare, and it rattled the floorboards on its return journey, as well.

He waited for a moment, conscious that she might choose to blast back through her door to add a closing insult or two, and only when he was relatively assured he was safe did he skipped past her threshold quick and knock on Scorpius' door.

Inside, it was a mess, very similar to Albus' own room. One of the bookshelves was toppled, its contents spilling all over the floor, but otherwise the Quidditch posters on the wall were identical to his own and the same textbooks were stacked in piles at the foot of the bed. The only other differences were that no windows seeped light into the room and that the bedspread displayed the large image of a red bat.

Scorpius sat at his desk, barely looking up as Albus entered, hunched half over a textbook and half over a piece of parchment, his quill scribbling away. "Hey."

"Mate," Albus groaned, glancing over his best friend's shoulder before collapsing on the bed. "Please tell me you are _not_ actually starting your summer work. The day you start your summer work before I do is the day it's possible to stay awake in History of Magic."

"That day has yet to come," Scorpius declared, still scrunched over his work. "Just getting ahead. You know how I am with Transfiguration. Ace at everything else, but If I fall behind in Transfiguration, not even Dumbledore could've gotten me back on track."

"Could just ask your head-of-her-class sister for help."

He grunted in reply. Sarcastically, he muttered, "Yeah, she sounded in a helpful mood. What was your row about this time?"

"Nothing," Albus shrugged. _Nothing unusual_. "Did you get your letter for this year yet?"

Scorpius pointed towards the textbooks next to the bed, atop of which Albus now saw sat a torn envelope and a creased piece of parchment. From within the parchment, the dull glint of scarlet and gold caught Albus' eye.

He grinned at his friend's back. "So you got it, then?"

"Yeah," Scorpius replied, glancing over his shoulder. "Sorry, mate."

"Well, we expected it, didn't we? I mean, Thames told us he'd chosen you before the season ended last year, and all it took was Longbottom's approval."

"Yeah, but you're the better player."

"Who's asking?" Albus said, resting his hands beneath his head, hiding the disappointment he was actually feeling at seeing the captain's badge in Scorpius' letter. He didn't resent his friend; he was happy Scorpius got it. Scorpius was the natural leader, anyway, whereas Albus tended to lead by example, quietly but firmly going about his business. In truth, if he were asked himself, Albus would have agreed that he was the better player, but there wasn't much doubt school-wide that there were two Gryffindor chasers who would be getting professional looks in their upcoming year of schooling.

"Anyway," Albus said, "when are we heading up there? I'm sure they've already got a good crowd, so the point of fashionably late is comfortably past."

"We can go now," Scorpius agreed readily, finishing his sentence and pushing his work away from him with a look of evident disgust. "This is all bull shit, anyway. No way I get better than an A on this. Think Rose would do it for me?"

"I don't know," Albus commented, acting thoughtful. "Is this Rose, as in my cousin who has insisted in front of Arithmancy classes for the last four years of school that you're thicker than a Polyjuice drought?"

"Forgot about that. Fuck."

Albus laughed and clapped his friend on the back as they both stood. "How did you get all that done so quick, anyway? We didn't leave the pitch until two hours ago."

"I actually started it last week," Scorpius told him as they left his room. "I'm so screwed. What are the chances of me becoming an Auror or a Healer with a P in Transfiguration?"

"Something like a Z for zero." Albus tiptoed past Rhysta's door behind Scorpius, not in the mood to tempt fate by waking the sleeping ogress. "At least you'll probably get drafted. We could go play professionally in America if we didn't get picked up here, anyway. And no worries, you know I'm equally as screwed in Herbology."

"You're taking a third-year Healer's course of herbology!"

"Exactly."

Scorpius shook his head as they trudged back down the spiral staircase, then veered right down a hallway into the family's sitting room. As they entered, Scorpius' father, evidently just home from work, lowered his newspaper to his lap and removed his reading glasses. "Hi, Albus," he said emotionlessly, offering a neutral smile in the process.

Albus nodded back politely in greeting. "Mr. Malfoy."

"We're going up to the Evicks' place for a bonfire, Dad," Scorpius told his father.

"Still haven't cleaned your room, have you?" Scorpius opened his mouth to protest but Mr. Malfoy waved it off, adopting a new grin. "All right, just don't tell your mum. And try and have it clean before you go back to school, or I will–and therefore _you _will–hear about it from her. I think your sister is going to that bonfire, too."

"Great," Albus mumbled. Scorpius heard him, and smirked, but thankfully Mr. Malfoy did not.

"Yeah, I'll keep an eye out for her," Scorpius promised.

Mr. Malfoy nodded in agreement and then turned again to Albus. As he had so many times before, Albus tried to grasp the fact that his best friend's father, who was always so formal and cordial, had once, on multiple occasions, tried to kill his namesake... who had, actually, been killed by his middle namesake. On orders from his first namesake. "Good to see you again, Albus. Did you get to see Scorpius' badge?"

"Yes, sir," Albus managed to squawk through disguised displeasure. "We were just talking about it, actually."

"Yes, I'm very excited about your prospects this year." Mr. Malfoy beamed at his son and then lifted his newspaper back up. Albus caught a brief glimpse of his father in a picture, doing something heroic and useless before a Daily Prophet photographer, as usual. "Especially with you two in the forefront. Mighty fine team you could put together. Just try not to give Slytherin too much of a walloping, eh?"

"We'll certainly try, sir," Albus lied, backing towards the door with Scorpius.

They were out the door before Scorpius glanced over at him, again. "Sorry for that."

"What?"

Scorpius looked down at his shoes and kicked a pebble as they started up the sidewalk. "The badge thing. Sorry he brought it up."

"No worries," Albus replied. "My father would've done the same."

"No, he wouldn't have. Your dad's the definition of comfortable. I don't think I've ever heard him say an uncomfortable thing."

"Twenty interviews a day and being head of the Auror Department trains you for that, I guess," Albus said, contemplating his father's life. It was true, his father was pretty good at sensing other people's weaknesses and triggers, and avoiding them when they really didn't want to be touched. Of course, Scorpius had never overheard Albus' parents flirting in the kitchen late at night, and Albus was absolutely certain there were things said there that were quite uncomfortable, if not only for him to hear them.

Scorpius laughed aloud, disturbing Albus' thoughts. "You should see how hard it is for Dad to root for Gryffindor in the stands, though. If he wore anything scarlet or gold when he was in school, he would have been burned alive. It's a sight to see him in a red scarf up there with Mum, looking guilty just for being there. Rhysta can't look at him without cracking up."

"I think Rhysta could do with a good crack, actually," Albus deadpanned. "Preferably with a whip. Non-kinky style."

Scorpius twisted up his face in contemplation. "Not sure if I should punch you for that one or laugh at it."

He ended up choosing to do neither, and they continued their trek up the street chatting about their Quidditch prospects, as Mr. Malfoy had brought up. Albus was optimistic about their team, while Scorpius didn't want to say either way. Listening to him strategize, Albus truly couldn't begrudge his best friend the captain spot; he knew what he was talking about, and it was clear that he was less of a risky person than Albus. In Quidditch, risk was only good when you were down by 160 points and the snitch was in sight.

The sun was touching the horizon when they climbed the hill upon which sprawled the wealthier wizarding neighborhood of the Evicks' residence. By the time the house was in view the blaring music from the backyard was already audible. Walking up the driveway, they met Richard Luckas coming the other way, a seventh-year Ravenclaw who perennial sat in the front of their Charms classes. They struggled to shake their amiable classmate, and exchanged cursory glances as they finally slipped through the gate into the Evicks' backyard.

The party was definitely in full swing. The fire was already growing in a giant pit in the rear of the property. Lucy and her father were stoking it with their wands, talking animatedly with her boyfriend Alec in the process. Young witches and wizards were mulling about, some excited to see each other after months of vacation, others gossiping about the latest developments on the Hogwarts romantic front. A group of fifth-year boys were making fools of themselves next to the magical speakers screeching the newest hit album on the market. Even some students who had graduated the previous June were there, lounging next to the Evicks' pool and exchanging jokes.

"Weird Sisters," Scorpius commented, nodding towards the music. "I hate the Weird Sisters. Will they ever stop kicking?"

"Scorp! Al!"

The two friends turned towards the commotion and found Dominique Weasley waving at them from next to the perpetually frozen table of drinks. Grinning, they sauntered over to where she stood next to Evan Logan, one of their dormmates, Rose Weasley, another guy Albus recognized as a Hufflepuff named Walters, and another seventh-year Gryffindor Elizabeth Patrick.

As soon as they were within reach Dom attacked them with abrasive tactics. "I've missed you!" she crowed as she wrapped an arm around each of them and squeezed the breath from their lungs. For a rather small girl, Albus thought his cousin exhibited incredible strength. "We haven't seen each other in for_ever_!"

"I saw you last week at Gran's," Albus stated dryly, exchanging eye contact with Rose. She just rolled her eyes.

"Okay, but that kind of qualifies as ages!" Dominique said brightly, turning to Scorpius and fixing him with an unhealthily flirtatious smirk. "And I haven't seen _you_ in a lot longer than that."

Albus sighed, pushing past her to reach the drink table, while Scorpius replied, "You know, you would be a whole lot more attractive if you actually meant it when you act like you wanna get in my pants."

"We've been over this, Scorp. I _do _mean it."

Synchronously, Rose, Scorpius, Albus, and Evan scoffed, while Elizabeth chose to restrain herself by turning her back on Dominique momentarily. "You would flirt with Albus and not feel any shame about it!"

"That's not true!" Dom protested, slapping him on the arm and linking her arm through Albus'. "If I flirted with Al I would feel a lot of shame. It just wouldn't equate the gains."

"You're making me uncomfortable," Albus told his cousin mock-seriously, prying his arm free from her grip. "Go flirt with Rose, if you want to get it on with your cousin."

Dom glared at him and seized herself a drink, and Albus took the opportunity to toss a soda to Scorpius as he turned to Evan. "Hey, mate. How you been? I ran into your mom the other day in Diagon Alley, and she said you'd gotten a surprise internship at Gringotts."

So the night transcended upon them. Albus caught up with his friends for the better part of two hours, until Dom finally convinced an exhausted Scorpius to go dance with her in the developing mash pit near the speakers. Evan got dragged off by a fifth-year, begging Albus with his eyes the entire way to save him; Albus just laughed it off and gave him a thumbs-up. By the time the bonfire had magically grown its way to the height of the Evicks' house, Rose and Albus were wading their feet in the pool, choosing to remain aloof from the party's entropy.

"Not partying tonight?" Rose asked him, nudging him with an elbow.

Like their parents before them, the two cousins had been close friends throughout all of their Hogwarts years. Offset by her scorn for Scorpius, Rose and Albus were used to sharing their secrets with each other. She laughed often at how Albus could expertly turn on his gay side whenever she needed a girl talk with someone who wasn't Dom or any of her other boy-obsessed friends. He'd had always admired Rose's tackling of her schoolwork instead of being distracted by the things that he was–namely, Quidditch and sex. Even with her aversion to his best friend between their relationship, they had still managed to retain their excellent relationship even past his Quidditch-obsessed and prank-pulling attitude.

"Nah, I'm too tired," Albus replied. "We had a long day on the pitch today. James has a match tomorrow, so he couldn't come down, and we went extra hard to make sure we were working like he was actually there pelting bludgers at us."

"Certainly not bothering _him_," Rose grumbled back, nodding to where Scorpius was tolerating some sort of unseemly move from their cousin.

Albus chuckled, kicking a foot through the water. "I guess he's made of different stuff than me." He watched the sparks fly off of the bonfire and execute abnormal spinning patterns before finally dissipating into the night air. "What about you, Rose? How you been?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know... cooped up in a house all summer with an annoying little brother and not a _single test_ to take."

She glared at him in warning. "What are you talking about? I saw you last week, too, trollhead. Lily was asking me the whole party about advice to make Jasper Michael fancy her."

"I remember that," Albus groaned, not needing a reminder about his sister's foolish toils with the sixth-year. He reminded himself to beat up the arsehole, later. "I'm talking about you. You know what I mean."

She sighed. "I don't know why you keep insisting something's wrong with me..."

"You've been acting weird since before school ended!" Albus said. "You get really reserved and quiet, completely unlike you. You're usually all up in everybody's face, but lately it's like you're thinking about something really important. Or really upsetting. So which is it?"

"Albus," she cried, staring at him in irritation. "There's nothing wrong. Just knock it off, yeah? I'm fine, I don't know what you see that's wrong."

He sighed, but let it slide. "Whatever. You should go dance with someone, anyway. Ask Evan when he gets back."

"He's still busy." They both smirked, leaning over to check if Evan was still being cornered and snogged by the fifth-year. "No time for boys. It's N.E.W.T. year, cousin, and I'm not supposed to be telling you this, but your mother insisted I make you actually try in your classes this year so you don't fall on your face."

"Oh, come on! I get O's! Just because I hardly ever study doesn't mean I don't get good grades."

"If you think I'm disobeying Aunt Ginny," Rose retorted, grinning at his discomfort while widening her eyes at the thought of his mother's wrath, "then you're thicker than Malfoy."

"I heard my name." Scorpius kicked off his shoes as he walked up, glancing over his shoulder as if to confirm Dominique wasn't hot on his trail. He plopped down at Rose's other side, which earned him a sharp glare from her, tearing his sweaty socks of his feet. "Talking about how handsome I am?"

"Drippingly," Albus said happily, while Rose continued to glare. "Seriously, Rose, lighten up. When was the last time you had a good snog?"

Her glare switched directions. "You know, that's really awkward coming from your cousin."

"I'm your best friend," Albus insisted.

"Oi! What am I, a Slytherin?"

"You're more like a declining acquaintance, at this rate," Rose said, before rounding on Scorpius. "And you might as well be a Slytherin. What's your plus-minus in the house points category? Reached negative one hundred thousand yet? You practically hand them the cup every year."

Scorpius grinned at Albus and they bumped fists behind her back. "And it was totally worth it, too."

Rose snorted and smacked their arms apart to stand up, brushing herself and reaching for her discarded flip-flops. "You two are worse than James and Fred. And you're a _Malfoy_! You're supposed to have some measure of keeping your nose down when professors get a wiff of mischief."

"Come off it," Scorpius said, avoiding her gaze.

"At least your sister is bright. Makes up for your loss of brain cells." She stormed off, still barefoot, leaving Scorpius staring at the water and Albus staring after her in mild surprise. A moment later, his cousin disappeared in the throng of people still socializing away from the music.

After a moment, Albus cleared his throat. "I know she doesn't treat you great, but that was pretty intense. Did you call her pretty or something?"

Scorpius smirked at him and shook his head. "She'd definitely kill me for that one. Speaking of dangerous cousins, convince Dominique that I'm not interested. That girl has _way_ too much energy for me."

"Says the Quidditch star."

"You're equally as–OI! GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM MY SISTER, YOU PRICK!"

Albus glanced up in alarm and followed Scorpius' gaze. Finding its source, he quickly looked away again, cursing. The image of Rhystara Malfoy propped on a picnic table hardcore snogging a bloke, her legs wrapped around his waist in their shameless display of affection, was just too much for his eyes to handle. He was deathly afraid an outline of his best friend's sister in short shorts was now permanently etched into his retinas, a nightmare he'd have to live with until the end of his days.

In the din of the party, it appeared that neither Rhysta nor her ecstatic male companion had heard Scorpius' bellow. He was halfway to his feet when he froze, fumed visibly, and dropped himself back down. "Fuck. It's that blockhead again."

"Who?" Albus said, making no effort to sound interested. The female Malfoy getting lucky with someone? Good. _Gets her off my arse_.

"Freaking Acres prick boyfriend. Damn Ravenclaws. I just want to pummel them all, they're all so goddamn cocky and pigheaded."

"Simmer down, my child," Albus said dramatically. Scorpius' protective side didn't emerge that often, mostly because he usually took pity on Albus and steered clear of her whenever they could. In the few times he'd witnessed it, though, he'd come to appreciate, for a variety of reasons that had nothing to do with the also-real I-fucking-hate-your-sister vibes, that he never wanted to be caught with his tongue down Rhystara Malfoy's throat. "You could just beat him up, anyway."

"Mum yelled at me for a month last time I even said a word to him," Scorpius said angrily. They both snuck another glance, Albus grudgingly, in time to see Acres take Rhysta by the hand and drag her towards the dancing mass of students. "I wish she'd just dump that prat. He's good-for-nothing... he's not even as smart as her." He growled in apparent frustration. "If she ends up marrying a bloke I hate, I'll be bitter at her for my whole life."

"Well, at least you always got me, mate. And on that subject, we should really get out of this pool, 'cause two blokes dipping their feet in the water is just too much of a gay scene for me." They looked at each other and burst out laughing before leaping back as quick as they could.

After putting their shoes back on, they wandered until they found Evan again, who had gone into hiding on the far side of the bonfire. He started when Scorpius tapped him on the shoulder, clearly thinking them to be his fifth-year admirer. He sagged in relief when he saw it was just them, and they spent a good minute teasing him about it.

"Surprised you haven't gotten one attached to you yet, Al," Evan diverted. "I had that monster and Scorpius had Dom–"

"Don't remind me."

"–so now it's your turn."

Albus shrugged. "I haven't got anyone in my sights right now, mate, actually."

Evan blinked and glanced at Scorpius before theatrically cleaning his ear with a finger and leaning closer. "Did I hear that correctly? Did you actually say you weren't interested in a girl right now?"

"He did say something about being gay earlier–"

"Shut the hell up, Scorpius," Albus snapped.

"No, seriously, Adrian's here somewhere, I saw him," Scorpius prodded, referring to another of their dormmates, whom had burst into tears third year when coming out of the closet during a rather awkward Quidditch victory party. They'd ended up staying up until four in the morning convincing him they didn't hate or judge him while alternating who has handing him tissues. "He's always said you were a smashing bloke."

"Seriously, I'm just not in the emotional state for a girl right now," Albus sighed, turning his back on their sniggering faces to look into the bonfire.

"Chelsea really messed you up, huh?"

He darted a horrific glare in Evan's direction. "That was over a year ago, mate. I'm way over her."

"So, then," Evan continued, clearly confused, "you're not going gay, but suddenly Albus Potter doesn't want to go after anyone?"

Albus shrugged, trying not to laugh at Scorpius' disbelieving expression. "I got a lot on my plate this year, actually. N.E.W.T.s, which I need to ace, if only to make sure my mother doesn't commit murder, making sure Lily doesn't lose herself in her O.W.L. studying, and especially keeping my mind set on Quidditch." He hesitated, seeing shapes in flames. "This is a big year for me and Scorp, Evan. I don't even need to tell you that."

"No, you don't," Evan nodded. "But you _do _say that every year, anyway. You, too, Scorp. No, don't deny it, I can get Rose over here and confirm that in three seconds. She's probably already on her way to do it, she's freaky magical like that."

"Whatever," Scorpius said, grinning. "It is a big year this year, anyway."

"Seventh year, man." Evan clapped his hands together and rubbed them together, and for the moment it was just the three mates standing next to the fire, the rest of the world forgotten in their precious second of anticipation. "_Our _year. This year, we leave our mark on this school forever."

Albus knew he was right. He also knew that it was a year he couldn't afford to mess up, or shirk off like he'd done to some years past. Even if he had a terrible Quidditch season, he still had an opportunity to do great in school, as Rose and his mother were screeching at him to do, and follow in the footsteps of his father, the greatest Auror in the world. Or, if Mr. Malfoy had his wish, he and Scorpius could hoist their fourth Quidditch House Cup for Gryffindor in six years, and they could both cruise to professional fame.

Either way, it was a monumentally important year, and there was no way Albus Severus Potter would let anything so trivial as a girl or a critical mistake get in his way.


	3. Chapter 2

**2**

She had known it was a bad idea to stay out until two in the morning, especially–no, absolutely–because she had an interview at the ministry the next day. Not only was that a big deal, but it was kind of the penultimate piece to her greatest dream. And yet, it was 2:07 in the morning when she'd finally come home and collapsed into her bed, her brother already snoring in the adjacent room. When she was startled awake by magic at 6, per her alarm, she wondered what had possessed her to do it.

_Fuck._

She rolled out of bed swearing, still in the shorts and t-shirt she had worn to the bonfire the previous night. Somehow she stumbled her way down the hall into the shower before she was fully awake, stripping off her grimy clothes and rushing under the freezing water to snap herself out of it. Downstairs, she could hear water running in her parents' shower, too, meaning she had less than a half hour to compose herself before she and her father would leave for his work.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid." She spoke to the shower, describing herself in the simple adjective. She cradled her head between her forearms, leaning them against the wall beneath the spigot. _Why was I that dumb?_

It was very unlike her, but she remembered why she had made the lapse in judgment. Sidney had been in South Africa studying Advanced Magical Theory ever since term had ended in June, and he claimed to have been missing her terribly. She was feeling non-confrontational, and so she had not resisted his ravenous appetite for her until he asked her to come home with him at one-thirty. That had been the wakeup call that she had somewhere to be in six hours.

The shower did not insult her back, and she sighed, frustrated with it. Twisting the faucet off, she shook her head. "You never do anything right."

She normally did not like to take showers in the morning, because then her hair needed straightening. No matter what she did to it, if it got under water it reverted nearly instantaneously to its natural, wavy shape–contrary to the classically straight look of the Malfoy family. She had inherited the right color, white-blonde, but only her brother got the straight touch. The wavy look was from her mother's side. Usually something inherited from her mother would make her happy, as it meant that it did not carry the Malfoy legacy of shame. In this case, however, she hated how young it made her look. At every opportunity, she made sure her hair was straight.

On short notice, in wake of her error in staying-out late, the ministry would have to do with her wavy-hair appearance. Sidney liked her straight hair, she remembered. Glancing at herself in the mirror, she decided maybe it did not look too bad wavy...

Back in her room, she was still rubbing sleep from her eyes as she selected her outfit. It was best to go conservative, she decided, and so she chose a vanilla blouse that matched her hair color, threw on some black tights and then pulled over them a knee-length ebony skirt. She did not have time for makeup, and would not have applied any, anyway. _Conservative, conservative, conservative_.

Her father was having a cup of tea in the dark kitchen when she came down, already dressed for work. He looked up at her and gave her a tired smile as she entered, which she returned blandly. "You look professional," he complimented her. "Ready to go?"

"Yes," she breathed, crossing to the muggle-type refrigerator her mother had insisted on getting, despite her father's objections. She pulled a water bottle from inside and downed half of it in one swallow. She may or may not have been feeling nervous. "Do we have enough time?"

"Plenty of time," her father said. He looked like he was about to laugh. "Take a moment to breathe, Rhysta. You have nothing to worry about. They can't possibly say no to you." She made a noise in her throat that clearly conveyed she doubted his words, and he did laugh. "Well, I know you have nothing to worry about. You should eat something."

"Not hungry," she mumbled. "Should we wait a bit longer, or can we go now?"

Her father sighed, and pulled up his sleeve to check his watch. As he did, the skin of his arm was exposed for a moment, and Rhysta caught sight of slithery ink imprinted there. She looked away quickly, a familiar, sour feeling settling in her stomach.

"I suppose we can go now," her father said. He finished his tea and placed the cup in the sink. After they had verified that she had all of her appropriate and required credentials in her handbag, they stepped outside the front door. It was a chilly morning, and Rhysta had chosen not to wear a coat. She wrapped her arms around herself as her father reapplied all of his specialized locking charms behind them. When that was complete, he took her by the hand and spun them on the spot.

She rarely side-along apparated, mostly because she was not yet accustomed to how it felt and it made her feel sick to her stomach every time she did. By the time they flashed back to color in an alleyway in London, she was extremely glad she had not eaten anything before they left. It would not do well to walk into the Wizarding Regulations Authority with vomit down the front of her blouse.

Her father held her under the elbow as he doubled over, moaning. "I was afraid of that. You can take the Knight Bus home afterwards."

"That would be even worse," she groaned. The feeling passed, and her father took away his hand. "I'll be fine, I'm meeting some friends in Diagon Alley later. I can just walk from the ministry."

Her father raised an eyebrow. She was familiar with the look: _I don't want my precious princess daughter walking unsupervised through the bloodthirsty animal streets of London._ She hated when he gave her look, because it made her feel like a piece of gold he was fearful or dropping in a gutter. She was thankful when he checked his watch again and put it off. "We'll talk about that later."

They walked out of the alley into early morning London. It was not incredibly busy, but a significant number of muggles–all oblivious to their arrival in the alley, of course–were still making their way along the sidewalks on their way to their strange muggle jobs.

Muggles had always fascinated Rhysta. She always felt that her father held disdain for them, although whenever they came up in conversation he remained mostly quiet. Her mother, however, encouraged her excellence in Muggle Studies at school, and Scorpius had introduced her to several of his Hufflepuff acquaintances who were muggle-born. While she found that if engaged in conversation they tended to be rather boring, Rhysta nevertheless held a desire to understand how they could live their lives without magic. According to her dormmates at Hogwarts, her affinity with them was unusual, if not downright troubling. That's what she got for being a Slytherin, though.

She followed her father down the sidewalk, her cold hands stuck firmly in her armpits. She had only been to her father's work in the ministry twice before, and both times getting there had involved flushing herself down a toilet, an experience she was not keen to repeat. Thankfully, this time around her father led her instead to a seemingly abandoned phone booth sitting on the muggle curb.

After stepping inside herself, her father joined her, and she found that the phone booth was rather more spacious than it had been a moment before, having adjusted to the greater occupancy. She glanced around the interior, taking in the strange muggle receiver and button system. When she was a second year she had badgered her parents until they had consented to installing a phone system in their house. Her mother, who worked multiple shifts at St. Mungo's in the magical maladies ward, was used to using a phone to contact some of her patients and patients' families, and had been delighted to give in to Rhysta's encouragement. Her father never understood the thing or its necessity, and it was clear now that he had not become more enlightened since.

"Okay, let's see here," he murmured, leaning far closer to the labeled buttons than Rhysta thought was healthy, alternatively squinting at a slip of parchment he'd pulled from his pocket. After a moment, he frowned. "They told me I had to type in 'MAGIC' for it to work, but there are only number buttons here. Did they make a mistake?"

Rhysta sighed and gently nudged her father out of the way. "Look here. You see how there are sets of three or four letters on each button? You have to press the button that corresponds with each letter. Like this." She typed down 6-2-4-4-2 slowly, spelling out the word for her father as she did so. As soon as the last 2 was pressed, the phone booth shuddered and she felt the familiar sensation of sinking underground.

Her father was still glaring between the phone and his parchment slip. "I really how no idea how that stupid muggle thing just worked."

She grinned. "Seriously, Dad, you are _really_ old-fashioned. And don't call it stupid just because you don't know how it works."

"I _know_ how it works," he snapped back, putting the slip back into the pocket of his jacket and crossing his arms. "I just think it's really stupid, is all. I don't see what the need is for all this muggle crap when our technology is so superior."

"Stop," she begged him, trying to appear authoritative. She crossed her own arms and squared off against him as the lift began to slow. "Don't belittle them and their stuff like that, you know how it makes me feel. Just because they're different than us and we have to keep our lives separate doesn't mean we're any better than them."

The lift doors slid open, revealing the already-crowded ministry atrium floor. Wizards and witches bustled around outside. Her father dropped his aggressive stance and shoulders and gestured for her to get out. "Sorry. It's just... you know how I feel about muggles. I don't know if I'll ever see differently."

Rhysta sighed, but led her father out of the lift. He joined her and they waited for a short line of wizards and witches to pass by before placing a hand on her back and guiding her forward into the morning din. She had never been somewhere so busy as the Ministry of Magic, especially in the early hours of the morning. Thousands of witches and wizards shuffled through the halls she was now walking through every day, sorting out the magical maladies of the time with poise and practice. Sometimes she wondered if her career would someday wind up here; now that that decision was coming closer, she realized a decision would have to be made one way or another.

For the second time in as many days, walking and thinking too quickly meant she was not paying attention to where she was going.

"Oof!"

She stumbled and cried out, bouncing off of the side of whoever she had run into. She managed to collect herself even as her father flung out a hand to catch her. The wizard whose back she had run into swung around and began to apologize, even though it had quite clearly been no fault of his that Rhysta had run into him. "I'm so sorr–"

The man, a rather tall gentlemen in his early forties with shockingly red hair, caught sight of her father and stopped his words dead. "Oh. Malfoy."

Her father turned his attention from catching her to the man she had run into, and she watched startled recognition flash behind his eyes. "Weasley," he greeted curtly.

_Oh_. "Sorry," Rhysta murmured, looking down at the floor.

"It's all right," Ron Weasley replied pleasantly. She looked back up, and saw a polite grimace on his face, albeit with steely eyes. His face was covered with freckles, which made him look less like the annoying prick her father's stories had made him out to be. "I shouldn't have been standing there. My wife yells at me for that all the time."

"This is my daughter, Rhystara," her father introduced stiffly. "Rhysta, this is Ron Weasley."

"A pleasure to meet you," Weasley said, reaching out and shaking her hand. "You're a friend of Rose's, right? She's mentioned you a time or two."

Rhysta felt herself blushing. On a routine morning, she would be handling this unexpected introduction with ease. Today, however, her prerequisite nerves were making everything awkward. Only more so because out of Weasley's sight, her father was eying her with trepidation. "I wouldn't say friend, exactly, sir. We've had a class or two together the past few years. I don't talk to her often, but I've always enjoyed our conversations."

"Well, she's always spoken highly of you, too. Unlike what she's said of your brother, of course." He tried to smile again and it came off as more of a pleasant expression, this time. "What brings you to the ministry this fine morning?"

"None of your business," her father snapped.

Weasley turned back to him, his expression darkening considerably. "A little touchy, eh? Actually, Malfoy, it's a good thing I ran into you. Or, rather, that she ran into me."

He chuckled at his own joke, and her father rolled his eyes. Actually rolled his eyes. "What do you want, Weasley?"

"I need you to run some files by your boss, and then get 'em back to mine by six tonight. The Wizengamot's having a cow over the Reuter case, and we're trying to get it all settled before we pull our hair out. I'll send 'em down by noon today, and if could copy and file them that'd be good, too. You know, just in case."

Her father rubbed at his temple before nodding. "Whatever. I'll get it done. Tell your boss he owes me."

"Like hell he does," Weasley replied rather rudely, but from her father's bland reaction and Weasley's almost bored tone Rhysta got the impression that this was a regular interaction between the two of them. Even more so when Weasley turned back to her and gave her his grimace again. "Nice meeting you."

He moved back off into the mass of moving magical folk along the floor, and her father touched the small of her back again to propel her forward.

"What was that about?" she asked him.

"Nothing," her father said quickly, putting too much emphasis on paying attention to the route. "I'll have to run some paperwork for the Auror department."

_Tell your boss he owes me. Like hell he does. _No 'thanks'. No 'you're welcome'. "He's an Auror, right?" Her father nodded reluctantly. "So when he was talking about his boss, was he talking about Harry Potter?"

They arrived at a set of lifts just in time to slip in amongst a jumble of others, and her father, unfortunately, was spared the necessity of answering her. She glared at him, trying to make it clear that she still expected an answer, but he was avoiding her gaze, and that sent her a message that the conversation was over, no argument.

They traveled down the lift shaft, listening to the tones of every floor and what every floor was responsible for. At the fifth tone, her father nudged her and they squeezed past a number of wizards to join a train leaving the lift. They emerged onto the floor of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, which was where both her meeting was scheduled and her father's work was located.

"7:12," her father announced, glancing at his watch as they strode down the hallway together. "18 minutes early. I'll wait outside with you until it's time. The administrator never accepts visitors until their scheduled appointments."

She nodded and gulped. Her heart was beginning to flutter in anxiety... _years _of preparation had been leading up to this day, and she had been stupid enough to get less than four hours of sleep the night before. If she did not pass out before he appointment time, Rhysta was half-sure she would be sick.

They walked until they arrived before a glass door with golden writing on it reading, _International Office of Registry, G. Britain Branch_. The door opened magically for them as they approached, and they both stepped through. Inside, a batty-looking middle-aged woman sat behind a miniscule desk and the largest typewriter Rhysta had ever seen in the very middle of the room. Around her, filing cabinets filled the room from floor to ceiling, except for the three other doors, one on each wall, that were not labeled. The typewriter on the desk was typing itself. In one hand, the secretary held a cigarette from which was curling a double-helix of smoke. In the other, she was writing in midair, on nothing, with a quill that had no ink on it.

She glanced over at them as they entered, not halting her midair writing. "Good morning." From the way she said it, Rhysta felt as though it were nothing of the sort.

"Good morning," she managed to say. "Rhystara Malfoy. I have a seven-thirty appointment with the director of the Wizarding Regulations Authority."

The cigarette smoke solidified into a single line and turned in midair, pointing straight to the door to Rhysta's left. The secretary never moved, but flashed her a rather yellow smile. "Waiting room's right behind the door. He should be with you in just a minute."

Rhysta thanked her as the cigarette smoke returned to its previous helical formation. She and her father moved to the left and through the door, which also opened as they arrived. Inside, another door labeled _Director Sam Dobly_ led off from a white-walled room with a few wooden chairs and a small table laden with magazines.

Rhysta shivered and sat down in one of the chairs. She wished her knees would stop shaking. "I can't believe this is where they test you. It seems so... unimportant. And dirty."

Her father grunted. "If you ask me, this place has a whole streak of misplacing its most important institutions. But nobody seems to agree with me on that account." She did not know what to say to that, because she did not want to argue with him about his brash statement, so she said nothing at all. After a moment her father asked her, "Did you have fun last night?"

_Sidney's lips traveling down her neckline. The mixed emotions of delight and reluctance. Wanting him to stop, not wanting to speak up and break the beautiful moment._

"Yeah," she toned far too unhappily. "It was great."

"Scorpius told me young Acres was back in town, and that you were with him last night."

Rhysta's head snapped up. Before her tired mind could think about it, she demanded, "What did he tell you?"

Her father's eyes narrowed at her in suspicion. "Nothing more than that. What _should_ Scorpius have told me?"

"Nothing," she said, too quickly again. _Shit._ Leave it to Scorpius to take her morning, not even be there himself, and make it worse. "Yeah, that's why I went to the bonfire. It was good to see him. I didn't realize how long it'd been."

_Because I wasn't paying attention._

"How was his trip, then? All of his schooling went as he had hoped?"

"Yeah. He's hoping to go back after he graduates this year and learn more about it. He said he was surprised how much you can combine wizarding theology with muggle history and explain so many discrepancies between our history and theirs."

Her father nodded, and she knew he had neither been paying attention to what she'd said nor understood it anyway. "Good, good. Unless there are things you aren't telling me, I happen to like that boy. I think he's good for you."

"You just like him 'cause he got 9 O's on his O.W.L.s." _Just like I did._

"Well, that certainly is a redeeming quality–"

The office door opened, and a plump wizard with a receding hairline and a ruddy face appeared on the threshold. Rhysta glanced at her father's watch as he turned in surprise. 7:16. Fourteen minutes early, and being received early. She tried not to sigh aloud. _Wrong again, Dad._

"Ms. Rhystara Malfoy?" the plump wizard said. Rhysta stood and nodded, and he stepped forward to shake her hand. He was only perhaps two inches taller than her, and struck her as a very friendly man. "Director Samuel Dobly, at your service. I'm ready for you, if you'd just step in my office to begin your interview."

He turned to lead her in, and her father cleared his throat after he had gone, looking down at his feet and seeming very uncomfortable. "Right then, well... I'd best be off to work, then. Stop by afterwards and let me know how it goes, okay?"

She nodded, and he leaned down to kiss her cheek before he left the waiting room. She took a deep breath, trying to still her quaking nerves, and then smoothed down her skirt anxiously before following Director Dobly through his office door, closing it quietly behind herself.

Dobly's office was covered in filing cabinets in much the same way as the secretary's room had been. His desk, however, was much larger, and was free of typewriters. Behind his large, spinning chair a few pictures on the wall displayed Dobly with a much shorter and much thinner woman that must have been his wife, and a much shorter and much younger boy that must have been his son. The only other adornment in the room was a giant portrait that portrayed a tall witch transforming into a wolf and back again, over and over and over.

The director himself was easing himself behind his desk with a slight bit of difficulty. "Please, sit," he said, beckoning towards the lone chair across from him. Rhysta stepped forward and sank into it, thankful she had not found a way to trip on the way over to it.

Dobly dropped rather heavily into his own chair and pulled a parchment piece from a drawer, setting it atop his desk and wetting his quill. He began to scribble on it. She followed it uneasily, watching upside-down as he scripted her name and the date. "So, Miss Malfoy... you are interested in becoming an Animagus."

"Yes, sir," she murmured.

He looked up and smiled encouragingly. She felt a little better. "A very prestigious honor, that. Not many can claim as much. We only hand out one or two licenses every year, actually, and not one to someone as young as you in decades. Your school transcript we received from you clearly shows that you're up to the challenge."

"Thank you, sir."

"I want you to understand," he continued, "that being here isn't an automatic ticket. Today, I'm going to ask you a few questions, mostly just a background check, and then my office will look into you more closely to make sure you won't present a danger to anyone if you're granted a license. If you do not want, for any reason, for this information about you to be sought, inform us immediately so that we may terminate our investigation. Unfortunately, that would also mean termination of your application for the license. Do you understand this, and are you willing to meet these terms?"

"I do, and I am," Rhysta responded. She hoped she sounded more confident than she was.

"Very good. If all's well and good, we can begin." He scribbled something and underlined it on the parchment. "What drew your interest to becoming an Animagus? What's the greatest reason behind your seeking registry?"

She swallowed. "The Hogwarts Headmistress, Professor McGonagall, as I'm sure you're already aware, sir, is an Animagus. When I was in first-year Transfiguration, she personally came to my class and moved me up a level because she felt I was ready. She said I had real promise in the field, and ever since I've wanted to live up to her praise. I feel like becoming an Animagus would be the best way to do that, and I've also always wondered what life looks like through the eyes of an animal we can't communicate with."

"I've often wondered the same myself," he said amiably, scribbling faster. "What specific things have you done in the field of Transfiguration to prepare for the grueling work Animagi transformation requires in order to learn?"

"Under some tutelage from Professor McGonagall, I was able to advance another class level forward. I actually took my N.E.W.T. level transfiguration test at the end of last term with the then-current seventh-years."

"What did you receive on it?"

"An O, sir." She tried to say it humbly, but winced when she realized that was impossible.

"Impressive," was the director's only comment, although it seemed his dancing quill had several more. "How old are you, Miss Malfoy?"

"Sixteen, sir."

"Good heavens!" he said, actually halting his quill to stare at her with a raised eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yes, sir."

He hummed a note to himself, and went back to his writing. "Very impressive. I read your entry essay myself, and I must say, you seem to have a better grasp on the subject than do many applicants closer to my own age. You must enjoy Transfiguration very much, if you've done so well in it."

"My favorite subject, sir."

"Mine, as well, as it happens. Your father works as clerk, is that correct?"

"Yes, sir. In the Office of Magical Law."

"And your mother is a healer at St. Mungo's, is she not?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good, good." He paused in his writing, sucked on the end of his quill for a moment, and then dipped it into his ink well once again. "Now, then. I assume you are aware that your father was, at one time, a Death Eater in the service of You-Know-Who?"

"What?" she blurted._ Oh... hell._ "What does... I mean... Yes, I knew that."

Now the director was reading off of another sheet he had pulled from a drawer. "The Wizengamot acquitted him of all charges, along with his parents, because officially during the Battle of Hogwarts they switched allegiances and saved the life of Harry Potter, enabling him to kill You-Know-Who and end the war." He dropped the paper back to his desk and looked at her with the same expression as before. "Is this consistent with the course of events you are familiar with?"

"Yes... I... It is. May I ask something, sir?"

"Of course." The quill was back in motion.

She considered biting her tongue, but found that she couldn't. Whether it be a mistake or not, she couldn't help asking, "What does any of this do with my application to be registered as an Animagus?"

"Background check, my dear," the director of the Wizards Regulation Authority told her simply. "I'm afraid we have to examine all angles behind you, Miss Malfoy, in order to be assured of our sanction in awarding you your transfiguration license."

"But that's not me," she protested, gesturing with her hands toward the papers, trying to convey her distress. "That was my father twenty five years ago making a mistake because his family was in deep with the wrong people. I shouldn't be judged based upon that."

"I would tend to agree with you, Miss Malfoy," the director said. "Unfortunately, I am a slave to the book of regulation, and it is my officials that will make the final decision. And unless they are allowed to make certain inquiries into your past and your family's past, I'm afraid we won't be able to award you your license."

_No. No no no no no no no no no._ This couldn't be happening to her. She had come so far, and worked _so hard_... she pulled an all-nighter the day before her O.W.L.s, for Merlin's sake, so she could complete one of the dozens of essays and theses she had written to the Department of International Magical Cooperation, applying for her Animagus license. It was unraveling before her, now, she realized, all because of her father. All because of her _name_. It was falling apart right in front of her eyes and she could do nothing to stop it. _Please, Merlin, no. This can't be happening to me._

She listened and answered numbly as the director asked her a few more questions about her transfiguration education and other schoolwork. He pulled out the two-foot long endorsement form that McGonagall had written in her favor, and read through it, highlighting all the redeeming points and checking it off as filling in the requirement for professional recommendation. She was not really paying attention anymore; her mind was still back on the words "Death Eater". It must gotten considerably colder in the confined office, because she was trembling.

"Well, Miss Malfoy," the director finally said, "I believe that will about do it. Very impressive transcript and credentials, especially for one so young. I intend to give you a positive recommendation to my board, I can assure you. With any luck, they'll be able to look past your family's dark transgression and award you your license. Is there anything else you'd like to include in your interview?"

She sat motionless, feeling devastated. Had she really wasted the past three years of her life spending time inside pouring over restricted section textbooks and ancient scrolls for extracurricular homework assignments when instead she could have been out living with her friends? Was all of her tireless, steadfast work laid down by McGonagall for nothing? A normal person would cry; she certainly felt like crying.

Instead, she looked straight up into the director's eyes and let her caution fly to the wind. "Sir you can't judge me based on what my father did when he was young because it was a different age in time and he was terrified he'd be killed if he didn't play the part his family expected him to play and I've spent _years _out of my life training and preparing and writing for this chance and I want it more than anything else in the world."

Her lungs were completely empty by the time she was finished, but instead of sucking in desperate lungfuls of air she clamped her mouth shut in shock at her outburst. She did not dare to move as the director regarded her with blank eyes and finished writing on his parchment. It was a precarious minute–it couldn't have been more than a minute. Maybe two minutes. Certainly not more than five? Sitting in the chair across from the director, feeling as through the walls were crumbling around her, Rhysta cursed the name she had been born with for the millionth time.

Finally, the director set down his quill and pushed his paper away. "Thank you very much for your time, Miss Malfoy. I will relay your information to the board, and you can expect a final decision from them in six to nine months. It will be mailed to you." He stood. On autopilot, she followed suit. They shook hands without her noticing. "I am truly rooting for your success," the director added with a grim smile. "Good day, Miss Malfoy."

She was back out in the waiting room with the director's door shut tight behind her before she finally realized everything that had happened. Her eyes danced around, settling on nothing in her horror. Fingers ran themselves through her hair–her bloody _wavy_ hair. Both hands snatched themselves back to her sides in frustration. If she didn't start to move, she knew she would start to cry, and if she started to cry only her mother or Scorpius would be able to make her stop. She didn't want to see either of them right now, and she definitely didn't want to see her father. Therefore, she had to move. And move right now.

Out the waiting room door. Past the creepy thing in the waiting room and the cigarette, too. Out into the main hallway of the fifth floor. She made it to the lift without much difficulty, keeping her eyes on the ground and her mind racing through insignificant things. _Nobody recognize me. Nobody recognize me. Nobody recognize me_.

She had to work hard not to run back to the phone booth. By the time she was there her frustration and terror had resolved into fury. She nearly broke the buttons trying to type in letter combinations of "GROUND", "SURFACE", and so forth. When the lift finally began to move upwards, she didn't even notice, and kept hitting buttons. The doors sprang open and the sun shone into the booth painfully before she stopped.

Muggle London was an entity she'd never truly learned how to navigate, but she knew the general way to the Leaky Cauldron. In any case, she knew what it looked like from the non-magical side, and would so recognize it when she came upon it. It ended up taking the better part of an hour or angry stalking about the streets with her arms stuck under her sides before she came upon it. She could only imagine what a sight she was to the muggles, who probably thought it odd that a formally-dressed sixteen-year-old was on the warpath in the middle of a now-pleasantly warm summer day.

After wandering for an hour, she finally found the entrance to the magical alley that hid behind London's muggle aboveground. The pub was boisterous and busy, and Rhysta wanted nothing more than to avoid any cheery interaction. She took great care to sneak through the shadowy corners to the backdoor, and managed to notice great attention in doing so. She spotted several people she knew enjoying themselves, and kept her head straight down so as to avoid being seen and stopped. And talked to.

And pitied.

The alleyway entrance was wide open out the backdoor of the Leaky Cauldron; so many witches and wizards were streaming back and forth on the busy day that it had no chance to close behind them before more were on their way. Rhysta slipped through the gap and immediately skimmed down a side road, skirting down streets that were more vacant and paralleled the main promenade, lined with flats on either side.

She wasn't very sure where she was going. Certainly not out amongst the shops, where happy students were beginning to go about buying their supplies for the new Hogwarts year with their friends. Backtracking the sidestreets was not a delightful prospect, either. It was not like her to sulk, and, like it or not, Rhysta could not deny that she had entered Diagon Alley and avoided all human contact with the express intent to sulk. _Come on... you're not even crying. You're stronger and _better _than this. Get over yourself._

It was not as if the world was ending. It was not as if the Dark Lord was swooping down on the buildings around her breathing fire and tearing apart the city. As her dormmate and best friend Natalia Longfellow would say, "The sun won't wait for you to rise, love. It's going up either way. Better get out there are enjoy it while you can."

But it wasn't just some passing fantasy, or some boy she had been crazy over that dumped her... she had wanted to be an Animagus since her first Hogwarts dinner, ever since the strange tabby came skirting through the doors and freaked out the first years by sprinting up the middle aisle and leaping onto the professor's table. A moment later, it was no longer a cat... it was Professor McGonagall, looking out upon all of them kindly, if not with a smile.

Minerva McGonagall was Rhysta's role model. The first time McGonagall had come to her class halfway through the second week of first year, and then asked her to stay afterwards to speak privately with her and Professor Wilkins, Rhysta had been terrified; her brother had teased her all summer about how the Hogwarts headmistress used to be head of Gryffindor house, and how she secretly had it in for Slytherins. As the rest of the class had filed out of class, Rhysta was sure she was about to be rung out for some evil-doing that she had been no part of. From what her father had told her behind her mother's back at a young age, as well, it was just the kind of thing Gryffindors did.

She was shocked when McGonagall actually spoke, Professor Wilkins looking on with a smile. "Miss Malfoy, when Professor Wilkins first told me he had a first-year who was mastering his spells at a fifth-year's pace, I was concerned that he had been hit with a most powerful _Confundus _charm. Now that I see it for myself, however, I must say... Brilliant, young woman! Brilliant! I would like to have a frank discussion with you about accelerating your studies."

From there on out, McGonagall had gone from being her most feared teacher to being her most loved (except for perhaps Professor Longbottom, but anyone with a heart loved Professor Longbottom). Rhysta spent days' worth of time away from her regular studies working on independent studies from Professor McGonagall. By her third year, some of the subjects she was studying were not even included in the seven-year Transfiguration curriculum. Sometime around her thirteenth birthday, she had begun reading about Animagi, and, remembering her excitement upon first seeing the rushing tabby transform at her first dinner, the next day she had begged McGonagall to teach hers how to become one.

The past three and a half years of her life had been almost devoted to intensive research outside of her already advanced classes, writing yards and yards of essays to submit to Transfiguration experts and communities in order to earn the prestige and prerequisites for the Animagus license program. She had not even begun the process of learning how to transform into an animal, as that was illegal before the license, but in a sense she had already pledged her entire schooling to the effort.

Now, once again, her family's name was bringing her down.

_Malfoy. Why was I born a Malfoy?_ She'd earned her fair share of cruel looks and ridicule at school; all of the children of former Death Eaters did. Even the fact that her father had switched allegiances did not spare her, for she found that many students, both older and younger than her, had fallen beneath the cruel influence of Draco Malfoy in his youthful naivety and arrogance.

She had never understood how her brother could bear it, being in Gryffindor house. At least in Slytherin, as she was, the people around her did not glare at her with contempt and derision wherever she went. Except for her close friends, actually, they glared at her instead with judgment that had nothing to do with her parentage, the classic and perhaps justified prejudice of the pureblood roots of Slytherin house. Scorpius, in Gryffindor, dealt daily with his own housemates cracking insults and angry comments at his expense, and seemed to shrug it off as if it did not matter. The ridicule just seemed to bounce off of him, and he used his example of excellence to speak for himself. Seven O.W.L.s and Quidditch captain showed everyone that he was not a slacker who sat back and let the world run itself, like the reputation of his father had become.

And then he was friends with Albus Potter, the son of the Boy Who Lived, himself the Boy Who Infuriated Rhysta To No Definite Extent. As far back as she could remember, she could not stand being in the same room as her brother's best mate, for a variety of reasons. One of them was that his laid-back attitude was completely incompatible with her own penchant for hard work and dedication. Another was that the natural intelligence he obviously possessed annoyed her, as his already good grades could raise his merits monumentally if he would just give the same effort to his studies that he and Scorpius gave to Quidditch.

Chiefly, however, what made her the angriest, and the most resentful of him, was that he was the son of Harry Potter, and that the slimy arsehole had wormed his way into her life like an annoying wart that was impossible to get rid of by befriending her brother. Planting the fact that his father was infinitely more noble and heroic than her father, and thereby loved by the wizarding world in the exact opposite sense that she and her father were hated, right in her face.

Walking down the scarcely-occupied street of flats, Rhysta felt her eyes begin to burn. She swore under her breath and wiped her eyes. She did _not _allow herself to wallow in self-pity, or even feel self-pity. She was a stronger soul than that, and she would not sink down to that level, even right now in her darkest moment. Even if everything she had worked for did not pan out and she was forced to change her entire outlook on school and life, she would not become weak. She refused to.

With this in mind, she forced herself to dart up the next avenue and walk out into Diagon Alley, woefully self-conscious of how out-of-place she looked in her dress. Her advancing age seemed to make up for it, at least; mingling in with the crowd, she saw that most of the students rushing about were about third-year age and below, beneath the level that dared to judge a sixth-year, and their parents were far too busy hurrying to keep up to do anything but offer her a friendly grin in passing.

She had a few sickles in her handbag; she tried never to carry more than two galleons on her at any time, but had been meaning to stop at Gringotts before shopping. With the meager money supply, she purchased an ice cream at New Fortescue's Parlor, an actually older establishment that had held its "new" name since being rebuilt almost twenty-five years prior. She sat down on a bench and nibbled grimly on the vanilla cream, trying to distract herself. Her eyes began to search the crowd for her friends from school, even though she knew they did not like to come shopping for school until closer to September, and she had not scheduled to meet either Natalia or Angelica until noon for lunch. Her loss... she could use the company, and she was in no mood for the kind of company her other option–Sidney–offered. She considered it for half a moment, and was surprised with the shiver that the mental image of his face shot up her spine. _You know, if that makes me so uncomfortable, maybe I should do something about that..._

At that precise moment, as if her loneliness had magically conjured them from nothing, her brother and Potter sauntered by whilst talking loudly, making her start and do a double-take.

They were laughing about some joke, and Potter was directing the conversation to another boy she had never meant from Gryffindor, perhaps a few years younger than all of them. For a moment, she thought that they had completely missed her up in their bypass, but then Scorpius looked up and glanced to the right and stopped dead in his tracks upon seeing her.

"Rhysta!" he said, smiling at her. Potter and the other bloke turned around at his exclamation, and the git actually flinched upon seeing her. She sneered back at him as her brother walked back to stand next to the bench. "Hey, I thought you weren't coming down here 'til noon. You're almost two hours early." As if this revelation suddenly clicked in his sometimes thick skull, his smile disappeared. His voice became cautionary. She hated how well he knew her sometimes. "How did your... uh... yeah."

He glanced over his shoulder at Potter, and Rhysta could have smacked herself in the face for how obvious he was being. For sake of not being laughed at, she had begged her family not to tell anyone about her interview. To cover, quickly, she tried to glance nonchalantly up at the sun and said, "I don't want to talk about it. No big deal."

Scorpius and Rhysta had always been much closer to each other than brothers and sisters with their small age gap usually were. They rarely fought–occasional bickering fits did not count–and he had always been there for her early in her Hogwarts life when she just needed some general advice or someone to talk to. Except for his tendency to be inflexibly overprotective, Rhysta loved her brother very much.

Unfortunately, this meant he saw right through her fib, and she mentally swore as recognition dawned on his face. He turned back to his friends. "Hey, Al. Can you take a hike for a minute?"

Potter glanced between Scorpius and her for a moment, his eyes dwelling on her. She thought he was hesitating, and was about to come out with a dismissal rather than confront another row with him, but instead he just nodded. "We'll wrap around. Take your time."

Scorpius sat down next to her as they walked away, resuming her conversation, and Rhysta stared at him, wondering whether or not she actually wanted him there. He sighed as he settled himself on the bench, and then said, "So?"

"So."

"How did it really ago? Right now I'm getting a vibe of 'not as you'd hoped'."

"I told you, I don't want to talk about it."

"That works on people you don't know, Rhysta," Scorpius murmured, "but I'm your fucking brother. It makes me upset when you're upset. What's up? How'd it really go?"

"I'm _not _talking about it, Scorpius," she snapped at him, crossing her arms over her chest and staring defiantly forward. "Let it go."

Her prat of a brother only sighed and settled his hands in his lap. "All right. I'll wait."

She glared over at him, furious, and he gazed calmly back. It was one of their other differences, the kind where she had inherited their father's trait and he their mother's. This time, however, she was determined not to let his seemingly indifferent patience outlast her sharply stone-walled temper.

She waited. He waited with her. They waited together. People walked by, some shooting them strange glares, which she ignored pointedly and Scorpius pleasantly. More than once she just tempted just slap him across the face and walk away, but decided it would not have been proper of her, especially considering that, even if it was unwelcome and entirely snobbish of him to do, he was just trying to help.

The crumbling was inevitable. They must have been sitting there silently for ten minutes when finally she sighed and looking down guiltily at her hands. "It went bad."

"I got that," Scorpius commented. "Anything else?"

"It wasn't even my fault," Rhysta explained unhappily. "It was just... everything I turned in was great, and the director said he was very impressed with my transcript and McGonagall's recommendation letter..."

Scorpius waited. "But."

"But..." Her defenses broke. She told him the whole thing, everything from getting no sleep the previous night to the Authority's heavy interest in their father's history. She tried to tell it impartially, but she could not keep the bitterness out of her voice as she talked about what the director had told her in his interview office. "Everything I've done in the last four years, Scorp, all of McGonagall's tutoring and all of my essays, it could all be for nothing because Dad was freaking in the bed with the wrong side of the war for a few months."

"Well, it _was _more than a few months," Scorpius admitted grimly, cringing as if expecting to be delivered a blow. When it did not come, he continued, "I'm sorry, Rhysta. If I could reinforce to them how smart and committed and good-hearted you are, I would. It's a shame they've gotta judge you on something you can't control."

"It's not fair!" she blurted. Now she was angry; she felt tears again, and cursed herself. _I will not cry in front of my brother. Not now._ "I'm so sick of it. Everywhere I go, Scorp, if people know who I am and they don't realize that there's more to people than their last name they stare at me like I'm about to pull out my wand and start hexing the legs off people. And they do it to you, too! And you just take it."

Scorpius shrugged, averting his eyes. "It hurts me, too."

"You don't show it?"

"Neither do you, most of the time. You're really strong like that. You kind of just shoulder it and carry on, and only ever complain about it when you're alone, later. I really admire you for that, actually. It's really inspiring."

She wiped at her eyes before he could see the tears and sniffled. "I don't feel as strong as that. I've wanted that license forever, Scorpius, I've worked _so hard_ for it. I love Dad, but times like this I am so ashamed of who we are." She hesitated, and then added, "I wish I had been born with a different name."

"Don't say that," Scorpius said. He did not use a reprimanding tone; just a suggestive one. "I know life isn't great when everyone knows our father was a death eater, but we should at least be happy that we have a good life, with plenty of money, and that we've both been as successful as we are."

She glared at him. "You're saying this whole thing like it's this magnificent speech you've given before."

He grinned wryly. "I have. To Albus, probably a couple dozen times."

"To Potter?" she repeated incredulously. "Why on earth would you ever have to say any of this to Potter? His family's got it made! Both of his parents are heroes!"

"You know better than that," Scorpius responded dryly. "Sometimes, Al's got it just as difficult as you and I do, sometimes even worse. Maybe not for the same reasons, but he's got people looking over his shoulder all the time, too, crazy to see what he's doing."

"If we have so much in common, why does he have to be a git all the time?"

"Probably because you act like a bitch to him all the time. And I know you're not a bitch. If you didn't take it all out on him, I know he would be happy to be nice to you. It's exhausting just watching the two of your row."

Rhysta sighed and rubbed at her face, then decided to keep her eyes buried behind her shield of hands. "Scorp... I really wanted this. I _really_ wanted this, more than anything."

"Are you _sure_ you didn't get it?" Scorpius asked gingerly, rubbing at his neck awkwardly.

"I don't know," she moaned. She removed her hands and blinked out at the street, sighing. "From what the director said, it seems like the decision board is going to try and find reasons _not _to grant me the license. It didn't even sound like a recommendation from the headmistress of Hogwarts would make a difference."

"When do you find out?"

She snorted. "Six to nine months."

"Hmmmm," her brother hummed. "That kind of blows."

"You're telling me."

He scooted a little closer to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, squeezing comfortably. She leaned into the embrace, thankful for her brother, as he said, "Well, no matter what, you certainly have the school skills to do whatever you want. And there _are_ people in the world who will stop treating you differently just because of who Dad is. You just have to find them. Speaking of that, I wanna talk about Sidney Acres..."

She froze, aware of how he easily he would notice her tenseness. "Why?"

He eyed her in his peripheral vision. "Because you were getting really friendly last night and I want to know how your relationship with him is going."

"Oh." _I don't know_. And she really didn't. She had started dating Sidney Acres because he was cute and they had sat next to each other in Herbology all year. He was really smart, which she liked, and very polite, which was a bonus on some other bastards she had dated, and after a while she had really started to fancy him. Over the summer, though, when he was off studying in South Africa and their only correspondence was only the occasional letter, she had grown consumed by finishing all of her Animagus paperwork before the deadline, while also applying for a number of advanced courses not usually offered at Hogwarts, and she had more or less stopped thinking about him. It wasn't like she _hated_ him, or anything, but when he had been so happy to see her last night she had felt rather indifferent towards him, and, truly, how physical he had been getting had not made her comfortable in the slightest.

"Oh?" Scorpius repeated. "What does 'oh' mean?"

"'Oh' means oh," she answered unhelpfully, looking her brother in the eye. "It means I'm not sure how it's going, and I'm not sure where I want it to go, if I want it go anywhere at all. I haven't had time to think about it since he got back. So that's that."

He grunted, and stood up. He rummaged in the pocket of his shorts and pulled out a small drawstring packet that he dropped in her lap. "Here. Use the Leaky Cauldron fireplace to floo home and change. Don't meet your friends dressed like a fashionable mother."

"Thanks," she said quietly, and seized his hand before he could walk away, squeezing it and shooting him a toothless smile. "And thanks for listening."

"That's what I'm here for, sis." He returned the grin, and then sighed. "Now I gotta go find Albus again. I'll bet a galleon I can bet where he's hiding."

"No bet here," Rhysta called after him as he set off for Quality Quidditch Supplies. She watched his retreating back as it rejoined the dense crowd. She felt a lot better after their discussion, but the sour feeling in her stomach that refused to be sweetened by the ice cream was still there, billowing beneath the distraction she was trying to heap on top of it. She didn't like feeling glum... not one bit. Looking out at the laughing younger-years showing off their new school supplies to their friends, she wished for a moment that she could return to those carefree days, when it didn't matter that she had a boyfriend who she had unintentionally grown apart from or that her life's educational goal may have just been squashed.

The next moment, she was glad her wish had not come true. She stood, finishing off the ice cream cone, and set off back towards the Leaky Cauldron. Even if her outlook didn't look great now, Rhysta knew she would feel better after she was back to school.

_Everything_ would be better once she was back at Hogwarts.


	4. Chapter 3

**3**

"On your left!"

Albus never hesitated, arcing his body so he could roll over his broom. Scorpius' cry came just in time; the bludger grazed his elbow as it shot past him. He righted himself as it whooshed by and heaved the quaffle downpitch to his friend, who had outflown Dominique (who was rather pitiful, actually) and was on a dead breakaway towards the goalposts at the opposite end of the pitch.

Flattening himself to his broom, Albus kicked his speed up to maximum with his knees, zipping past his cousin and nearly pulling level with Scorpius. Just before he crossed the scoring area, his friend faked a shot, causing Uncle Ron in the keeper spot to flinch to his right, before dropping the quaffle behind his back to where he knew Albus was coming. Albus seized it with his fingertips and slung it through the leftmost goal with practiced ease, evading his uncle's lunging arms by multiple yards.

"100-60, next score wins!"

"Ron, dammit!" his mother screeched as his uncle sheepishly went to retrieve the score. "At least _try _to act like you've played keeper before!"

"Oi, what do you think I'm doing?" he retorted, whipping the crimson ball at his sister's face while Scorpius and Albus high-fived midflight. "This old body's taken too many hexes to move so fast! I could teach you a thing or two about flying around after having both your legs fused together and then cut back apart!"

"Oh, just lay off him, Mum," Lily cried as her mother tossed her the ball. Albus raced after her with the intent to pick her pocket, but she heaved it to Dominique before he could get there. "We all knew he was rubbish when we put him there."

"Come back here and say that to my face!" Ron shouted after his niece. Albus laughed at his family's ability to have an extended argument while playing a pick-up game.

He watched as Scorpius let Dominique pass the quaffle to his mother, and then soared in to apply pressure. As they had done a hundred times before, as soon as he had forced the opponent to pass, Albus swooped in front of the intended recipient and took off the other way again, leaving his mother swearing in his wake.

"Language, Mother!" he cried happily.

He threw the quaffle up to Hugo, their third chaser, who avoided a stab by Lily and charged towards his father in the goal. The shot he threw at the center post was just deflected by Uncle Ron's fingertips, but before the keeper could regain possession Albus snatched it out of its fall and lobbed it across the scoring area to Scorpius, who drilled the game-winning shot in the right goal from beyond the regulation semi-circle.

"Game!" he shouted, throwing his hands up in the air and rolling on his broom so he was flying upside-down, gripping his support with only his knees. He high-fived his two chaser teammates and their beater Fred as Albus' father flew across the pitch from where he had been playing keeper for their team and joined the celebration on the ground. They played without seekers, and allowed substitutes so that all of their family members could get involved in the fun.

"Tough luck, pet," Harry Potter crowed to his wife, who glared at him unhappily as he both dismounted and wrapped his arms around her.

"Why we ever let you two play on the same team is beyond me," she growled unhappily, glaring between Scorpius and Albus, who both simply grinned.

"Oh, cheer up, Mum," Lily said.

"Yeah, Aunt Ginny," Fred added with a beaming smirk. "It's not as if you just lost a _Quidditch match _or anything..." His expression turned to horror as Albus' mother pulled out her wand, and he shot off so quickly on his broom none of them ever saw him go.

"Oh, come on, dear," her husband said, taking off his glasses and wiping off the sweat from his lightning-scarred forehead. "We're all here for family, aren't we? And we all had fun."

They had, but then again, the monthly Potter-Weasley Quidditch match on Uncle Ron's backyard pitch was always a blast. Hugo's parents and Albus' and Lily's parents had started the tradition before they were born, and Albus and James had been playing in it ever since they were eight years old. It was impossible to keep Ginny and Ron Weasley from participating, and even Uncle Charlie, who worked across the channel, was known to pop in from time-to-time to hop into the mix. After the match, no matter who won, the entire family always headed down the road a mile to supp together in the Burrow, and tonight would be the last monthly tradition before the new Hogwarts school year began.

August 17. 14 days. 1,209,600 seconds. Albus could make it. He was almost there.

"Well done," Aunt Hermione said as she joined them on the pitch from where she had been chatting with Aunt Audrey, Rose and Aunt Angelina on the sideline. She beamed at Scorpius, who was almost considered part of the family due to his closeness with Albus (even through Uncles George and Ron clearly had never stopped disliking him, for his own family ties). Hermione walked up and kissed her husband's cheek, patting his shoulder. "Good try, dear."

"Hey, I did fine," he protested as she turned away and shook her head. He stalked after her as she and Dominique began chatting about something having to do with schoolwork along with Molly, Uncle Percy's oldest daughter.

Albus' parents both laughed after their old schoolmate friends. The Hermione-Ron bickering was legendary in the family. One time, James and Fred had clocked their all-time agreement record at forty-three seconds, an accomplishment they had immediately celebrated by setting off an entire crate of Weasley Wizarding Wheezes' fireworks in the Burrow's sitting room. Grandma Molly had subsequently been on the warpath for months.

"Very impressive, Mr. Malfoy," James addressed Scorpius amiably as he touched down on the ground. He shouldered his beater's bat and wiped his face on his sleeve. The Magpies had three days off, so thankfully their star rookie had been able to swing around for his family's main holiday. "I sent everything I had at you, and you even dodged the Pickwin Spinner. Even Albus gets caught by that one once in a while."

"You wish."

"Indeed, Scorpius," Albus' mother complimented, smiling. "You and Albus make quite the team in the air. I've had a lot of contacts ask about you at work, actually, the both of you. It must be exciting, having scouts coming to watch you play. Are you coming down to dinner down at the Burrow, tonight?"

"I'm afraid not," Scorpius said apologetically. "I told my parents I'd be home for dinner tonight, so I'm sorry. But thanks again for letting me participate in your match!"

"Anytime, Scorpius, anytime," Albus' father said, nodding, before he and his wife set off after the rest of the adults, dragging Lily and Hugo and a conversation about garden gnomes after them.

"Nice play, mate," Albus nodded to his best friend as Scorpius shouldered his broom. "Family dinner, huh? Really important thing, eh?" He snorted. "Bull shit."

"I just get uneasy when I'm around all of your family," Scorpius shrugged and sighed. "Your uncles can hold some pretty mean grudges. Especially Ron. Ron really hates me." He glanced over his shoulder at Uncle Ron, now some way off and still insisting loudly that he had done great for a forty-plus-year-old Auror on a broomstick.

"Nah, he's cool," Albus replied. "He just doesn't like to get scored on. Very competitive lot, we Potters and Weasleys are."

Scorpius didn't reply, still staring over his shoulder at the sideline. Albus imagined he must have been spacing out, as the only two people sitting there chatting were Rose and Audrey. After a moment, Scorpius seemed to snap out of it and turned back to Albus. "Yeah, well... I really gotta finish that damn essay anyway. Catch you tomorrow?"

"Yeah," Albus said as they fist-bumped. "Let me know."

Scorpius stepped a few feet away to disapparate, and once the familiar "_pop_" accompanied his magical vanishing James and Albus strode across the pitch to join the congregation heading down the way to the Burrow. Albus asked a question about one of the Wanderers' beaters and he and James got into a very-in-depth discussion while Rose and Audrey joined them in their walk. Audrey's youngest, Lucy, was only six years old, and rushed about around them as they started off down the path.

"So how are you doing?" James asked after a lull in their conversation. "I mean, really. We haven't gotten a chance to talk lately, except for Quidditch things."

"Yeah, your coach has got you on a horntail leash," Albus replied. "Thank Merlin you got away for this dinner, or Gran would skin you and serve you next time."

James grimaced and nodded in agreement. "Really, though… how've you been, Albus?"

"A few months haven't changed anything. Still ignoring schoolwork. Still fantasizing about women. Still trying to figure out how Messier's going to be drilling Ravenclaw this year, so we can bury him and take the Cup again."

His brother grimaced again. "I hate that bugger. Arse can't even let his beaters play five minutes without screaming at them. You remember when Lily had a crush on him her third year? Downright embarrassing, that."

"Do _you _remembering when you dated his sister your fifth year?" Albus laughed.

James groaned and changed tactics, tossing his broom from one hand to the other. "N.E.W.T. year, huh? You ready for those?"

"I don't know," he said honestly. "I haven't done much thinking about it, yet."

"I think you should start early, myself. I wasn't ready. Well, you know how I am, I never study, but I was still overwhelmed when it actually came test time."

"And you still scraped out six of 'em."

"At A level," James spat. He glanced at Albus with a grave face. "And a P in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Dad never showed it to you and Lily, but he was really disappointed in me. If I hadn't've gotten that O in Care of Magical Creatures he probably wouldn't have let me go without summer classes, but Mum took pity—yeah, _Mum_ took pity, fancy that—and then I got drafted so it wasn't going to happen anyway."

"You say 'drafted' as if it wasn't a sure thing," Albus joked. "First overall pick. Heralded for awareness and intelligence. After walking into your N.E.W.T.'s without having picked up a pencil all year and then writing a complete thesis about polyjuice potions and their reverse effects in non-human transformations."

James snorted. "A lot of that is just because Uncle Ron is a great storyteller. I still can't look at Aunt Hermione without seeing whiskers…"

"In any case, I won't be able to just do that."

"Bugger on that," James said. "You're a hell of a lot better in school than I ever was. Smarter, too. Don't deny it, I couldn't name a thing about Ancient Runes, and you've never gotten less than an O on a test in there."

"Why are we talking 'bout school, mate?" Albus asked his brother, growing uncomfortable with the conversation.

"Hey, you brought it up."

"No, I didn't," Albus replied half-irritably and half-resignedly. "You did."

"Oh, right." James shrugged, and his brother sighed. He was brilliant on a broom and had a mind as quick as a golden snidget, but sometimes James just said the stupidest things. Then again, Albus wasn't one to comment on that. Rose took pleasure in laying out the thousands of things that had earned him feminine slaps across the years. "Anyway, I was looking for discussion more down the road of the female gender."

Albus rolled his eyes. _Typical brother_. "I'm not seeing anybody."

"I know," James said dryly. "That's what worries me. Lily told me you hadn't seen anyone in over a year."

"That's not true!" Albus retorted. "I hooked up with Miranda Dapples after the Slytherin game last year. You remember that! And then I was with Becka Edinna from Hufflepuff a couple days in May. I took Sarah Tuttle to Hogsmeade!"

"That's not what I mean, it's–"

"And I snogged Kara Nathan and Lisa Sedgwick..."

"Albus–"

"...at the same time."

"Albus!" James sighed and rubbed the back of his head with his hand. Their conversation had grown so loud that Rose actually looked back at them and delivered them a glare. Albus held up his hands in defense, gesturing, _What did I do?_ "That's exactly what I'm talking about. You were just hooking up with girls left and right all year, ones that ended up hating you after!"

"Why are you lecturing me about that? You did that all the time in school. You didn't care, you just moved on to the next one!"

James hesitated. "Well, I guess I've grown up a little since. I don't know, I've been seeing this girl..."

"For two months?"

"Well..." He bounced on the balls of his feet from side-to-side to indicate his indecision. "I've been seeing her since last April."

"What?!" Albus cried. "How do I not know her? How do I not know _about _her?"

"I didn't want to tell anyone because it's kinda serious. I really fancy this girl, Albus, and I haven't even told Mum and Dad. You're the first in the family to know... except for Aunt Fleur, 'cause she saw us one day in Diagon Alley but I almost Unbreakable Vowed her to secrecy. I'm gonna introduce her to Mum and Dad soon. She's really great, Albus."

"What's her name?" He blushed, and Albus groaned. "What's her bloody name, James?"

James sheepishly met his brother's eyes. "Denna Korvasi."

Albus was so shocked he stopped walking. "The _Slytherin chaser_? Are you _fucking _kidding me?"

James pursed his lips and dotted a finger in Albus' direction. "Thus the not-telling."

"You're telling me that you've been dating a Slytherin chaser without _telling_ us about it," Albus hissed, "since before the last season ended? A Slytherin? James, forgive me for sounding like Uncle Ron, but are you out of your mind?"

"Come off it," James muttered. "Look, I fancied her all year, but I just knew there couldn't be anything during the Quidditch season, because we both didn't need the distraction and I _definitely_ didn't need the distraction. But after they were out of the running for the Cup I started dropping hints with her in class and... well... I fell flat on my face a ton of times. I didn't let up, though, and then she said yes to me, only I didn't want you to know, because, well... yeah. But you don't even know about her, Albus. She's smart and funny, and she actually _laughs_ at my jokes."

"Come to mention it, I think Fred did mention something about you getting utterly rejected but that it was just a joke."

"Yeah, the git," James said, shaking his head. "We're completely off-topic here, we're not supposed to be talking about me. I know that you really liked Chelsea, but I'm concerned that that's causing you to close yourself off from everything else, that's all."

The Burrow was in-sight. Five siblings' worth of children and their parents were milling about the front yard, and Albus knew their conversation would have to be cut short. "Look, I'm over Chelsea, and I appreciate the concern, but, really, it has nothing to do with a relationship or anything like that. If anything, I don't want to get distracted by a girl. Quidditch is too important. I want to be up there with you next year, mate."

James glanced at the family and grunted his displeasure. "All I'm saying, Albus, is that you did the whole serious relationship a whole lot sooner than I did, and now that I'm experiencing it, I'm not sure why you ever went from being this way to the way I _used _to be, which is a place I never want to go back to. Plus, Lily says even the hookups have stopped. Are you all right?"

"Yes, James," Albus gritted his teeth and growled. "I'm focused on Quidditch. That's all. Can we leave it there?"

The elder Potter looked as if that was the last thing he had to do. In his eyes, Albus saw regretfully a lot of worry and disbelief, but he sighed in relief when James nodded, looked away, and then moved off after mumbling something about finding their father. He felt a little guilty about being so rash with his brother, but what he'd said was true, he _wasn't _thinking about girls right now. There was just too much going on, and with last year's crusade of women that James had brought up the women that were willing to take him on a whim were becoming very few.

Dinner was a welcome distraction. Even magic couldn't contain all of the Weasley and Potter family members inside of a single room, so instead his mother and Aunt Fleur expanded a table that could comfortably seat fifty, and so they all sat down to one giant dinner with one of their grandparents at either end. Albus was scrunched between Lucy and Uncle Percy, which made for alternatively exhausting and dull discussion, but thankfully across from him were Fred and Dominique, which ended up making up for it. For a grandmother of mostly teenagers–or perhaps that only made the situation worse–Grandma Molly sure bellowed down the table at them a lot, leaving their own parents behind to simply laugh.

After shaking himself through a number of unpleasant N.E.W.T. discussions from his former-head boy uncle, Albus escaped with Rose and Dominique to the garden as the sun set, under the pretense of watching the younger children, but in truth just to get away from his more stuffy relatives. James and Fred had snuck off somewhere, and were probably even now charming Grandpa Arthur's underwear to sing and scheming on taking the car for a fly.

"No, Dominique."

"But you just _have _to come with us! It's tradition, Rose! There hasn't been a Weasley girl who didn't go since Victoire and you and I first went! It's our last year and for Merlin's sake you _will _go dress-shopping with us on August 31!"

Rose shook her head at their cousin. "I have no reason and no money to buy a dress. I have to save up all of my money for ministry training school. Besides, when does anything happen when I would need a dress?"

"Are you joking?" Dom screeched. "The Christmas ball, the Valentine's Dance, the Halloween festivities, your _graduation ceremony_! These are all things that you _are _going to this year, just like shopping. I will make you if you think you're not."

"It's N.E.W.T. year, Dominique," Rose groaned. She rubbed at her eyes, and Albus sympathized. "There's no way I'm taking so much time to waste on things like dances. Seventh years have more responsibility than ever before."

Dom pouted. "But how are you going to meet someone?"

Rose glared at her. "Some people have more important things to do than attack every boy they meet with their lips and tear their clothes up every ten seconds! Are you even a little concerned about how you're going to do on your tests?"

"No," Dom answered flippantly. She flipped her thick red hair over her shoulder and winked at Rose. "It's all part of the plan, Rose. Once I find out which classes are with the guys I want, then I'll start trying in them. They'll help me study, thus setting the perfect man trap, and voila! N.E.W.T.'s for Dominique. Piece of cake."

Rose turned to Albus, completely ignoring Dom. "I'm going to kill her. She is such a child."

"I'm right here!"

"That is a pretty dumb plan, Dom," Albus laughed. "You're running out of guys to date, anyway. You've hit all of Gryffindor except for Scorpius and dug your way through Hufflepuff pretty well. A couple of Ravenclaw's and Slytherin's left, maybe, but it may be time for you to hang up your bottles and aim for an actual relationship. Or celibacy. One of the two."

"I have never had sex, I'll have you know, Albus Severus Potter," Dom yelled back. "And just for the record—"

"Never mind," Albus cut her off, holding his hands up quickly. "I don't want to talk about it. This is a good place for conversation to end."

Dominique obviously did not think so, and said several things to the fact, but Albus forced his attention elsewhere, turning away from his cousin and making it clear he did not want to talk about it. Dom snorted at that and turned to complain to Rose, who shot Albus a look of abandonment. He had the decency to feel guilty, but not to the extent that he actually tried to rescue her from the pitiful and endless mouth of their beloved cousin.

He stared back towards the Burrow, watching magical candles float about the yard. Some of his aunts and uncles were sitting on the porch, talking. His mother, Aunt Hermione and Gran Molly were apparently arguing over something while pointing up at a corner of the house. His father was lying in the grass, apparently taking a nap, while Fred, Uncle Ron, and Uncle Bill were cackling at unheard jokes a short distance away.

Rose tiptoed close enough to Albus so they could whisper without interrupting Dominique's requiem. "Save me."

"Can't. Busy."

"She's talking about Scorpius, now."

"Is she? I hadn't noticed." He grinned at his cousin, who rolled her eyes at him. They stared out together towards the rest of their family. Dom chatted away, mostly to herself now, though she was seemingly aware that everyone else had stopped listening.

"James told me he was concerned about you."

"Okay," Albus groaned, holding up his hand as if to hold Rose at bay. "Just 'cause I haven't kissed a girl in a while doesn't mean I've suddenly morphed into a centaur or something."

"It's just not like you," she replied. "It's not as if girls never talk about you, or aren't interested in you. I mean, even girls that you haven't treated well still like you, after the fact. Come to think of it, I can't even remember you annoying Scorpius with who you fancy and then him bleeding my ear out over it."

"You don't talk to Scorpius."

"Not if I can avoid it," Rose replied. She averted her eyes before continuing, "Doesn't stop him from talking to me. And sometimes I wish he'd just lay off. But my point is, are you okay? You have been acting pretty distracted lately."

Albus shrugged. He was not aware of any changes in his behavior, and he was beginning to get sick of people asking about him. "I'm just really focused on Quidditch, okay? James getting drafted has really put me on a course. Scorpius and I don't especially have time for girls. Right now all I can think about is working harder. There's no room for a relationship in the middle of that."

Rose crossed her arms over her chest and eyed him reproachfully. "If you ask me, a relationship is exactly the kind of thing you need to just make yourself relax every once in—"

_Pop_.

Almost everyone in the yard jumped with the pounding ricochet as four people disapparated simultaneously in the same spot on the lawn. Albus caught himself having nearly pulled his wand from his sleeve when he recognized the figure at the forefront of the group, and even as he lowered his hand he complimented himself on his Auror-type reflexes. In front of he and Rose, ten yards closer to their visitors than they were, Albus' father and Uncle Ron _had _drawn their wands and were now holding them stiffly at their sides as they hurried up to the figures.

"Neville," Albus' father greeted the lead figure, glancing over the small party. There were four wizards, all dressed in traveling fatigues and looking quite fatigued to match. Behind Professor Neville Longbottom stood a tall man with dark skin, a shorter, plumper specimen with hardly any hair, and a middle-aged man with a mustache and a bowler hat. "Kingsley, Logan, Barry. If you're here… what's happened?"

Albus left the confines of the garden, walking quickly forward, past Lily and Hugo and Molly in order to get closer to hear the exchange. Professor Longbottom, at the head of the party, glanced about the family surrounding them as he ducked his head and murmured, "Sorry, Harry. We didn't want to interrupt… but this can't wait."

"Where are we meeting, then?" Ron interjected. Even in the dark, Albus could see that the knuckles on his wand had turned white.

"Well," Neville replied, even quieter. "Sorry, but seeing as almost half of the Order's members are already here, we kind of figured this would make a convenient spot."

_The Order_. Albus straightened up. There was only one "Order" that his parents belonged to, and its name was legendary in the wizarding world. At hearing Professor Longbottom's insinuation, he glanced about his family spread out amid the yard. Some of the children had resumed playing, but, as he now saw, almost every adult member of the family had frozen and was regarding their visitors with something akin to shock.

"Here?" Grandpa Arthur said as he strode between people calmly to meet their visitors. "Who have you sent for?"

"Everybody," Neville said guiltily.

"Sorry, Arthur," Kingsley Shacklebolt, former Minister of Magic, toned deeply from behind Albus' Herbology instructor. "We know it's an inconvenience… but this really can't wait."

Arthur was already waving off the apology. "In our sitting room, then. We can seat about twenty. It can be expanded, some. We'll have to have some people standing, but we can make sure everybody fits in. Come in, then."

Albus' father held up a hand, stopping the visitors before they could move. He glanced towards his wife, standing ten paces away. "The children."

Albus' mother and Aunt Hermione exchanged a look, before glancing at Fleur. Before a moment had passed, Aunt Audrey cleared her throat and spoke up. "I'll start taking them home."

Harry Potter swallowed and nodded and then gestured for their newly-arrived friends to lead the way to the house. Uncle Ron grabbed Aunt Hermione by the hand and led her after as she ordered Rose to apparate Hugo back to their house. Uncle Percy kissed his wife before rushing off after them. Uncles George and Bill were already at the house, opening the door for their guests. In the alteration of the moment, the Weasley and Potter children could only look on as their parents marched off as if to war.

Albus swung around until he found James' eye, only to find his brother was just as perplexed as he was. They shared a stare of confusion, then nodded at each other and rushed forward, dodging family members and ignoring Aunt Audrey calling their names until they had arrived on either side of their father, who resolutely marched toward the Burrow with his head down.

James placed a hand on their father's arm as they sidled alongside him, causing the man to start. "Dad, what's up? What's going on?"

"Nothing," their father retorted sharply. "Find Lily and take her home. Your mum and I will be home later. Don't go out. Just go straight home. One of you send a patronus telling us you got home safely."

Albus was taken aback with the harsh tone his father was using. "Dad…"

"Don't argue!" Harry Potter snapped at his sons. At seventeen, eighteen, and forty-two, respectively, they all stood of a height. At that moment, however, Albus felt as though their father were towering over them with furious eyes. "Do not disobey me this time. Take Lily and go home."

In a move that was probably far stupider than should have been attempted, James stuck out his neck and said, "I'm eighteen. I'm of age, out of school, fending for myself in a place of my own. I'm entitled to be let in on whatever's going on that's affecting a whole half of my family."

"James." Their father's voice was warning, and he stopped walking so that he could swing around and jab a finger into both of their chests. "This is not your business. You're not old enough to deal with it yet."

"Look!" James pointed over their father's shoulder at the Burrow, his brow furrowing in anger. "George is letting Fred go into the meeting. Why can't I?"

"You're too young!"

"I'm older than you were when you killed Voldemort!" James insisted vehemently. Aunt Angelina, passing by, flinched and gasped and tried to cover it. Albus' brother paid her no heed. "I'm older than Mum was when you left her at Hogwarts for a year by herself while you scoured the world for his horcruxes. I'm older than—"

"Enough!" their father roared. James fell silent and looked down at the ground as if he had crossed a line. They waited precarious moments while their father glared at them, until finally he sighed. "Fine. You—_and only you _—may go and accompany your mother inside. Hurry up, before I change my bloody mind. Go!"

Albus' jaw dropped open as James skipped past their father and hurried towards the Burrow, shooting his brother a genuinely apologetic look over his shoulder. "That's not fair. You're letting him in but not me? We're practically the same age!"

"You're not out of school. You're too young for this, and I won't change my mind. And someone needs to take Lily home."

"She's fifteen!" he cried incredulously. "She's not fucking four, she can fend for herself."

"This is not a debate," his father stated coldly. Albus felt his courage wilt in the face of his father's silent fury. "Take Lily home and stay there. You will not leave the house tonight. Make sure all of the wards are active once you're inside. Do as I say, and we will not speak of this again."

His father turned and jogged to the Burrow porch, where Ron was waiting for him. They both went inside, the last of the meeting party, and closed the door behind them. Aside from Aunt Audrey shuffling the younger children down the external staircase to the fireplace in the basement in order to floo to their homes, Albus was left alone in the expanse of the Burrow's yard. Rose and Dominique had vanished. As had Lily.

It took him a few long moments to reign in his fury. Half of the anger was directed at his father for not letting him in. The other half was jealousy at James for being let to enter. With as calm a mind as he could manage, he tried to talk himself down from his furious high. _James is older. He's out of school. You're in school. Dad's right. You can't get mixed up in this. Whatever it is that is happening inside, you can't afford to mess up your future by joining the Order of the Phoenix…_

The Order of the Phoenix. How many stories had James, Albus, and Lily been told of the Order of the Phoenix growing up? Late at night in the summers, the first times their parents let them visit Hogwarts and stay over the night at Hagrid's hut, the old gameskeeper would stay up with them until the early hours of the morning sharing adventures from the days of the second wizarding war. What they hadn't gotten out of Hagrid they'd connived out of Uncle Ron, who was really only too happy to share stories of his friends' and his heroics once he got on a roll. Most of the stories ended one way or another in a stalemate, but to hear of the incredible magic his muggle-raised father, his muggle-born aunt, and his magically-unfriendly uncle had been able to conjure even in their teenage years had amazed them. And the Order of the Phoenix was legendary in the stories. The entity that opposed Voldemort, even at the height of his power, that refused to give up fighting even when all was lost, that had finally proved victorious in the end by the sacrifices of all of its members.

Albus' parents had always insisted to their children that the Order had disbanded after the war's conclusion, but they'd always said it with a knowing look passing between them. James and Albus, having shared a room for most of their childhoods, had stayed up almost the entire night more than once debating between themselves whether their parents' claim was true, or if the Order still existed in secret, intended for use should another evil ever arise in the magic world.

Apparently, their parents had been lying. The Order persevered. _So why is it meeting here, now, in my grandparents' house? Seemingly, about something that absolutely cannot wait?_

Albus glanced up at the Burrow. The invisibility cloak his father had passed down to him and James was stowed in his trunk at home. It would take him perhaps ten minutes to apparate home, find it, and apparate back. If he could somehow sneak through the front door… getting in would be hard, but staying without getting caught would be even more intense. Being amid his family was like being a gold piece amongst goblins. Every single family member seemed to have some innate sense of perception that had got his brother and Fred—and he, himself, more often than not—caught red-handed despite their self-assurances that they had done everything possible to go undetected.

He sighed. He was kidding himself. All he could possibly do was get himself into trouble by trying to make his way secretly into the meeting. On that subject, he'd be lucky if he wasn't hit with a nasty defensive spell if someone realized they were being spied on without actually realizing it was just him.

"Just find Lily," he told himself angrily, kicking at the ground. "And concentrate. Don't get messed up in any shit. Focus on what counts. Find Lily and go home, just like Dad told you."

With this grudging goal in mind, he set off about the yard and hills, trying to find where his sister had run off to. She hated flooing, interestingly enough, so he knew she wouldn't have gone home the easy way with Aunt Audrey. She wasn't behind the shed or around the garage, and he wandered a short way towards the nearby woods before convincing himself his baby sister didn't have lapses of judgment that would constitute a nighttime visit to the woods.

He was starting to grow worried when he spotted a lock of red hair glinting around the corner of the Burrow. It could have reasonably belonged to almost _any _of his relatives, but Albus investigated anyway, sneaking quietly around the corner to discover what his sister or whoever it happened to be was doing sneaking near the edge of the house.

It _was _Lily. She was lurking underneath a window that Albus was almost certain led to his grandparents' sitting room. The blinds were drawn and so dark he suspected them shrouded with a charm, for good measure. His sister was bent against the wall, her eyes open wide in the opposite direction of his approach and her hands cupped to her ear against the side of the house as though she were listening to the inside for vibrations.

Albus grinned to himself and sensed opportunity. Tiptoeing up behind her, he was glad that she was so enraptured with whatever she was doing that she didn't notice his approach. Quickly, he wrapped a hand around her head and over her mouth to cover her surprised scream, grabbing her arm at the same time. "Eavesdropping, are we?"

She started and shrieked into his hand, and he was glad he had had the foresight to cover her noise. She jerked around in his arms and only relaxed once she realized it was him. She licked his hand, and he smirked at her.

"I'm beyond such disgusting things, dear sister." He nevertheless released her, albeit wiping his saliva-covered palm across her cheek as he did so. "Seriously, though... what are you doing?"

"Blah." Lily wiped off her cheek, and then looked him solemnly in the eye. She held up the hand closest to the wall, which held the end of an Extendable Ear. The red tube found up into the wall and through a barely perceptible crack in the wall. "I want to know what's so important that they brought all of the Order of the Phoenix–which is supposedly secret and disbanded–to the Burrow in the middle of our last family dinner before the school year. Don't you?"

"So you caught onto the Order thing, too," Albus said lowly, conscious how it would look to his parents if he was caught beneath the window of their top-secret meeting. He glanced at the sitting room window and sighed, shaking his head. "Dad told me to take you home, Lils. He's really mad. He let James and Fred go in but not me. We have to go home. Come on."

He groaned as Lily shook her head. "Since when do you _really_ do what Dad tells you to? Besides, you're going to want to hear this, too."

_No distractions. Focus. _"I can't, Lily. I'm fucked if we don't do what Dad says. He's really serious this time and he's made it quite clear what'll happen if we don't do exactly what he and Mum want. This isn't worth it, if we get caught and wrung up for this. It's not your neck that's in trouble, either, it's mine. There's no way we're going to do this."

Lily merely extended him the end of the Extendable Ear. "You're already cracking."

"No, Lily." _No distractions. _He held out his hand. "I'm serious. Hurry up, I have to get home anyway."

"You're not even putting up a convincing argument."

Albus hesitated, and then dropped his arm back to his side with another sigh. He stepped forward and snatched the Extendable Ear out of his sister's hand as she beamed brilliantly at him. He shook his head at both her and himself as he the tube up to his ear. "I'm going to regret this..."

Lily laughed at him and shoved him over so she could get her ear closer to their eavesdropping device and hear the inner conversation, too.

"...happens sometimes." It was their father's voice. He sounded disgruntled but determined. "It's horrible, and regrettable, too, but wizards fight. Sometimes, things get out of hand. You can't just rule out that it was an accident. The man could easily have been trying to renovate that foundation of his house with magic. It could have just collapsed naturally. He may not have had time to react."

"His body showed clear signs of magical violence," they heard Professor Longbottom say grimly. "The _Cruciatus_ curse. Burn marks consistent with wizard's fire." There were a number of muffled gasps and scratching sounds consistent with hands being rubbed across temples. "I'm sorry, Harry. It's pretty clear this wizard was murdered. And that's not all."

"Not all?" Albus heard Uncle Ron exclaim angrily.

"No," Neville continued mournfully. "A few hours ago, Australian authorities found Phillip Gorman in his hotel room." Someone in the room–Aunt Hermione, if Albus could guess correctly–squeaked shortly and quietly. "He had been tortured by magic before being murdered. There is no doubt it was deliberate and that the killing curse was used. His wife and two children haven't been found. They have already searched the more populous wizarding population centers on the continent. They're expanding the endeavor, but the ministry has already issued a statement saying there is little hope."

"He was only on vacation for a week," Albus' father muttered. There was obvious sorrow in his voice. "I expected him back in the office on Wednesday. He has a report he begged me to put off needing until after his vacation. It was his first days off in over a year..."

Albus and Lily exchanged a glance of horror. Someone who worked with their father had been found dead on vacation, and his family was missing. Moreover, someone else had apparently been murdered, as well. Both came as complete shocks to the members of Albus' family in the sitting room and all of the other Order members present. Something was horribly wrong.

"There's more," Neville said. "Harry."

There was some shuffling inside, and Albus could almost _hear _his father's grinding mental processes. "Over half of the Auror Department was called to Wales a few weeks ago. A very dark symbol had been burned into the ground over almost a square kilometer of space. It looked... like this..." Something rustled, sounding like a piece of parchment, and then at least twenty people yelped in shock.

"But..." Aunt Hermione moaned, "but that's..."

"I know," his father replied. "Which is why we called in half the department. There were bodies under each of the points, just like you could expect from the shape, but they weren't fresh. We identified them and checked around, and all of them were dug up from graves around England and Scotland in three months prior to the incident. Dug up my magic, leaving no traces of their incursion."

"What are you saying, Harry?" This new voice was unfamiliar.

"I'm saying, Blake, that dark magic is back in the world. With the new evidence Neville brings us, there's no doubt of it. You all know what the symbol means, but we're no closer to finding out who put it there or what purpose than we were when we arrived on-scene. The place was clean. They wiped any spell signature when they were finished making the symbol. It was perfect. That's the thing that really scares me."

"You think it's connected to the murders, then." That was Uncle George. "Was there some clue the two were linked?"

A moment of silence passed, and it was Kingsley Shacklebolt's deep voice that replied, "Only the timing. We've had more instances of dark magic now in the last year than we have in the past twenty-five. Something serious is occurring. I've spoken with some friends I have in the Russian ministry and a contact that hunts beasts in Africa. They've both expressed some discomfort with their regions; recently, a number of inexplicable and malicious things have begun to occur worldwide. Simultaneously."

"What does this mean?" Grandma Molly said. Sometimes their grandmother was doting and loving. Other times, she was a war-torn hero. The latter was the grandmother that emerged now. "You can't possibly be suggesting... suggesting that there are _dark wizards_ about again... _Death Eaters_?"

"We have no evidence to corroborate any Death Eater involvement," Neville assured quickly. Albus breathed a sigh of relief; only the stories he had heard was enough to convince him he never wanted to meet an active Death Eater, especially not in battle. "Nevertheless, we are concerned there are some sentient, malignant, evil forces at work here."

"Phillip was tortured," Uncle Ron murmured. "They were interrogating him. What were they after?"

"We were hoping you and Harry could tell us that, actually."

A measure of uncomfortable rustling followed. After some hesitation, Albus' father clear this throat anew. "He was working on something classified. I'm really not at liberty to discuss it, even behind closed doors. And these aren't exactly the most secure doors in the world."

"What does 'classified' mean, Harry?" Uncle Bill asked warily.

"Something along the lines of, 'something you don't want falling into the wrong hands'." A few people swore. A few wives' apparently hit their husband's arms as the profanities ended sharply. "There's no way to tell what he knew or what whoever took him now knows. I've already sent for all of his documents and all related documents to be frozen and stored in the Department of Mysteries until I can personally review them. We're swimming with mermaids, here."

Another unfamiliar voice, this one the smooth, calm tone of a middle-aged witch, spoke up. "Can you tell us, at least, why someone would ever want something Phillip knew enough to kill him for it?"

The room was silent for a long moment. It was Aunt Hermione who finally broke it. "Only that it means something is rising."

"Something," Aunt Fleur repeated.

"Something bad," Albus' father murmured. The temperature outside must have been over twenty-five degrees centigrade, but the tone of his father's voice made him shiver as if he suddenly stood in a blizzard. "I need to get back to the Ministry, now. Kingsley, you and I have to speak with the minister. Ron, can you take a look at those files before I get down there? You should see if there's anything Phillip came upon in the last few days that made him more of a prime target than elsewhere in his investigation. Hermione, you go with him. Bill, if you have any contacts in the underground still from your time at Gringotts... I need you to dig. See what the chatter's about."

"I'll get on it," Uncle Bill affirmed, while Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione murmured their obedience.

"Harry," Aunt Angelina whispered hesitatingly. Albus had to lean over the Extendable Ear, almost shoving Lily away from its opening, in order to hear her nearly-silent question. "What does this mean for us... are we safe? What's happening? School's about to start again, how can we send back our children if they're in danger?"

"I'm sorry. I don't know what we're facing. Right now, I can honestly tell you that if there's a safer place in the world other than the room we're in right now, it's Hogwarts."

There was a murmur of assent that rippled throughout the unseen room, and then the noise of dozens of people climbing to their feet. The bustle began, and Albus was just about to pull away from the ear and get himself and Lily out of there when his mother's voice entered the ear silently but clearly. It was vivid against the background noise of the other witches and wizards in the room; she must have been standing just on the other end of the Extendable Ear.

"Harry..."

His father spoke from right by her side. "I don't know when I'll be home. Maybe not at all, but I want you there. The kids will be safe, then. James just told me he'd stay with us tonight."

"Why haven't you told me about any of this?"

"I couldn't. You know that."

"This couldn't've happened," his mother protested. "The darkness has gone out of the world. We defeated it."

"There's always more, Gin. Did you ever really believe it was over?"

There was a silence, and he imagined their parents embracing heatedly. "Promise me you'll come home tonight. Promise me you're not going to go gallivanting off after evil all by yourself, for once. You are not doing this alone, Harry Potter. You come home to me tonight."

"I promise. I wouldn't be alone anyway, I'd have Ron and Hermione, just like the good ol' days..."

"You make jokes. Ha ha." Albus and his sister listened to his parents kiss, and exchanged a disgusted look. "I love you."

"And I you."

Albus dropped the arm that held the Extendable Ear and leaned against the house. Dark magic... of the variety that made his _parents _afraid. He pondered a moment ministry work so secretive that his father couldn't openly talk about it before his trusted fellow members of the Order of the Phoenix. What could it possibly be? And why would wizards who practiced dark magic seek it so furiously? Even as he asked the question to himself, he knew the answer, as it always was: power.

So, then, what power did they refer to?

With a sharp yank, the Extendable Ear gave flopping out of the wall. He stuffed as much of it into his pocket as he could and seized his sister by the wrist. "We have to go," he stated with preamble, and spun on the spot.

They materialized in their home's kitchen to the frantic shouts of their brother. They had just dropped hands while Lily moaned and grabbed her forehead when James tore into the kitchen and skidded to a halt before him, his wand drawn out before him. As soon as he saw it was them, he heaved a gigantic sigh of relief and slumped against the counter. "And just where the _fuck _have you been?"

"Uh..." Albus elected to take the cowardly path and divert the question. "Places. What's got your knickers in a bunch?"

"Dad told me to come home and watch over you tonight," James gasped, and Albus tried to adopt an expression like he hadn't already known that. "I got here, and you weren't here, and I was freaking out, and, Merlin's beard, where were you two?"

"Eavesdropping on you."

"_Really_, Lily?"

"You're a rubbish lier, Al, he would've deduced it soon enough anyway."

"You heard it, then?" James said, neither angry nor evidently surprised to hear that his two younger siblings had been listening in on the secret meeting of the Order of the Phoenix. A complete change came over their brother's body language. His body stiffened, his knees locked, and his fist clenched around his wand. James glanced out the window, and Albus was sure he had never seen their brother look so forlorn before. "You should have seen that room, to fully appreciate how scary it is... Dad just looked helpless. Mum even looked terrified. Aunt Hermione was literally in tears. At least the five bravest wizards of our time were in that room, and I didn't see a face that wasn't afraid. Fred almost threw up."

"What did they mean, James?" Albus couldn't help but ask. "What were they talking about?"

"Something so dark and so powerful that it made the people that brought down Voldemort as _teenagers_ quiver in fear of." James shuddered and ducked his head into his hands. "Magic that no one should ever bother looking for. Much less using."

"Dark magic in the world again, that hasn't happened in our lifetimes."

"That's the thought I can't shake," his brother replied, looking him right in the eye. "We've known nothing but a happy world, more or less. Mum and Dad have never given us the impression, otherwise. Now, all of a sudden... this is the real world."

"I'm going to bed," Lily announced quietly, appearing quite shaken. Both of her brothers murmured good night as she padded out of the kitchen and up their staircase.

They both waited until they heard her exhausted footsteps press across the hall, then listened for the creaking of her bedroom door opening and closing before they released a collective heave of breath.

"You should go, too, or you know Mum will know what you were up to," James suggested. "She'll be home in a few minutes. I'll tell her you were both in bed when I got home."

"Are you in the Order now?"

"I'm not sure. I mean, there wasn't exactly an initiation ceremony or anything. But... if this is as serious as they think, _I _don't think they'll be able to turn help away."

Albus kept this thought in mind as he made his way toward the staircase. "Be careful, mate. You've got a life, you know. A Quidditch career. Keep that in mind before you rush off to war."

"You just focus on school, Albus," James grinned tiredly. It didn't stretch to his eyes. "Night."

Albus made his way up the staircase. His toothbrush scrubbed his teeth while he undressed, unable to drag his mind off of the events he had vicariously witnessed that night. He opened his window to let some of the summer heat of his room dissipate, and then lied down on his bed, staring at the ceiling, weighing the probability of him falling to sleep within the next few hours.

He heard his mother apparate into the kitchen below, heard her muffled voice as she had a brief conversation with James. _My parents are scared_, he thought. That idea scared him more than any dark magic he could think of.

He rolled onto his side and desperately tried to force the thoughts from his mind. _No distractions. This is exactly why. No diversions. Focus. School and Quidditch. You heard Dad. Hogwarts is the safest place to be when there's dark magic about, and that's where you're going._

Something in his gut was telling him something different, however. He couldn't have possibly told someone what if they'd asked, but an uneasy feeling had wormed its way into Albus Potter's head, and he could feel the familiar sleepless nagging he had gotten after a dozen Quidditch matches that told him he was going to have difficulty not being distracted tonight.


	5. Chapter 4

**4**

"Toothbrush? Hair brush?"

Rhystara padded after her mother as the older woman streaked down Platform 9 3/4, easily three meters ahead of her daughter and parting the seas of students and their families left and right. Rhysta sighed; she had never been as excited about getting on the Hogwarts Express for a new year as her mother seemed to be in sending her off. While she agreed that the end result in arriving at school was certainly worth getting excited about, she could not bring herself to happily anticipate the seven-hour train journey it took to get there. If she could have just curled up in a compartment with her friends and a good book, she would have been perfectly happy.

During the interminable trek, however, nearly every ride for her previous five years attending the magical school, it seemed like there was something amiss every time she climbed aboard, some encounter waiting to ruin her day. One year it had been James Potter and Fred Weasley throwing a magically levitating water balloon at the first person who entered their car–that just turned out to be her. On her third year ride home for Christmas Break, Eric Tabins had practically forced her under a mistletoe and had to be pried off of her by the trolley lady–rather embarrassing for him, actually–only to be beaten to a pulp by Scorpius at a later date. As if those two scarring and humiliating moments weren't enough, she'd had to spend three of her last four rides sharing a compartment with her brother and his prat of a friend, and occasionally the prat's infuriating and insolent sister, as well. All of these things made her less than excited about the ride, not even to mention her preliminary prefect rounds.

"Yes, Mother," she droned, following Astoria Malfoy at a healthy distance. "Everything is packed."

"Robes? Prefect badge? Books?"

"Yes, Mother."

"Wand?"

"No, shit, I left that one at home." Her mother swung around in horror and Rhysta strode past, never breaking stride, waving her wand before her mother's nose as she passed with a smirk. "Oh, sorry... just found it."

"Not a laughing matter," her mother scolded, rounding and taking long strides to catch up with her daughter again. "You scare me every year."

"Go bother Scorpius!" she protested. "I'm forty times more organized than he is, and you know it! He forgets things on purpose, just to annoy you!"

"I personally watched your brother pack, actually," her mother said, flipping her long, flowing hair over her shoulder with pride. "I believe you'll find all of his things are quite neatly and completely packed. And if they are not, I have promised to disinherit him. Merlin knows, your grandparents would be thrilled–they wanted to do it the moment he was sorted into Gryffindor."

She glanced around for her brother, who had slipped away almost as soon as they had apparated into King's Cross Station, disappearing as though donning an invisibility cloak into the endless crowd of people. Her father was the only one trailing her and her mother, looking up with a helpless and sympathetic smile as she looked back. She turned around without saying a word. It had taken almost a day before she could talk with her dad after her relatively-botched interview, and she lied to him straight-up by telling him it went well over the dinner table. Scorpius had been delivering her unhappy glances ever since, which she had pointedly ignored.

"Come off it, Astoria," Draco admonished his wife from the rear of their short entourage. "She's fine. She's worked hard. Get off her back and see her off right."

Her mother sighed and turned to her, placing her hands on Rhysta's shoulders. She was taller than her daughter, nearly of a height with her husband, both of which struck Rhysta as woefully unfair. "All right. I want you to do well in school this year, Rhystara, as we always do. Look after your brother and try to remind him your family still has honor to uphold."

"Yes, Mother," she deadpanned, praying for the moment where she could be rid of her parents to come faster.

Her mother's grip lessened slightly, and Rhysta watched her eyes soften. "I'm sorry, dear. I have no doubts of you. Just... don't let this whole Animagus business distract you from your schooling, yes? I know McGonagall will have you training hard, but don't forget that you still have seven N.E.W.T.'s to earn for your post-secondary education. You've worked very hard for five years. Don't let it go to waste now, my sunshine."

"I won't, Mother," she replied quietly, sensing a rotten feeling in the pit of her stomach for different reasons than her mother had just outlined. _What Animagus business?_ She straightened her spine and tried to smile reassuringly, acting as though her parents weren't heaping pressure unto her already struggling back."I won't let you down."

"I know," her mother said, and hugged her close. Her return was rigid but genuine.

Her father stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her, and she felt guilty as she returned his embrace. Leaning close, he whispered in her ear, "Your mother doesn't mean to be so harsh. We are _very _proud of you. Don't forget that."

"I know, Dad," Rhysta said, the guilt swelling and bubbling out her digestive tract like an undigested meal. "Thanks." She gripped her trunk's handle and lifted its weightlessly-charmed body as she turned towards the train. "I'll write."

"We love you!" her mother called.

"I love you, too," Rhysta mumbled back. Shame clogged her words halfway up and she wasn't entirely sure they came out as she'd meant them. Instead of turning around and trying to reiterate the feeling, Rhysta dove into the mulling crowd of students waiting to climb aboard the train cars.

Three minutes later, she was moving down a corridor as students pushed into compartments on the parent side of the platform, waiting for the train to begin to move to wave their families one last goodbye. Rhysta was determinedly looking for an empty compartment on the opposite side of the car in which to store her luggage, not in the mood to meet her mother's or father's eyes again before the Hogwarts Express miraculously left King's Cross Station. With every step she took, her attempts to raise her mood by imagining all of the classes she could take and all of things she could learn in the impending year ended up worsening it as thoughts turned instead to the disappointed look on Professor McGonagall's face she was doomed to witness. The downturn made her instinctively hate everyone who looked at her as she passed them in the hall, and she was already systematically compiling a list of people she did not want to meet.

"Rhysta... fancy meeting you here."

_Shit. Cue person number one. _She turned around slowly, plastering a small smile across her lips, to meet the smirking face of Sidney Acres. He sidled up to her and didn't hesitate to cup one hand on her cheek and wrap his other arm around her waist, pulling her close. She forced herself to endure it, mostly because she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to resist it and it would take a great deal of emotion and explanation to avoid.

When he finally pulled back, reflected light glinted off of the badge on his chest and caught her eye. "Head boy," she commented, resting a hand on his chest and subtly inserting pressure there. "Yeah, fancy meeting you on the train leading back to Hogwarts."

"Yeah," he said, cocking his head to the side. "Kind of a drag, right now. Means I have to be the good ol' bloke in front of the young ones instead of indulging in more mischievous practices..."

He ducked his head to kiss her jaw, and she could already feel him moving to her neck. She pushed him off gently, covering it with a grin. "Stop it, devil boy. You're going to scar some first-years somewhere. Behave yourself for a few hours. Can't you do that?"

"Don't know." His smirk got wider, and again the twinge that told her she wasn't sure whether or not she wanted this shook her stomach. His hand was tracing patterns on her hip still. The tingling sensation it was spreading nearly made her shiver. "I missed you."

"I missed you, too," she answered. Not entirely a lie; there had been a few times over the past few weeks where she'd found herself desiring a good snog to remove her mind from its present place. No one acceptable to that situation other than her so-called boyfriend.

"Yeah? How much?" He began to close in for another kill.

"First years, Sidney, first years," Rhysta admonished, nearly dropping her cool and making it quite clear she didn't want a bunch of eleven-year olds finding them kissing on the train. Or anywhere. Ever. As it was, she struggled to make her rejection appear purely circumstantial.

Sidney sighed, but the smile was still on his face. She had fooled him. _Good. I think_.

"I have to go up to the prefects' cabin right away," Sidney said. His face crinkled in distaste. "Get things ready for the meeting with Rose. What an annoying Head Girl choice. I really thought Georgiana Longston was gonna get the spot... but I suppose I never should have thought I'd live to see the day they chose a Hufflepuff for Head Girl. Anyway, the meeting's slated to start fifteen minutes after we pull out of station. I'll see you then?"

"Sure." She smiled at him as he squeezed her hand, forcing herself to ignore the two insults he had just delivered, one to someone Rhysta had always been friendly toward and another to a house in which she actually had friends. Glancing once or twice over his shoulder to meet her eyes, he left the car, moving forward of the train towards the front.

As the divider slid closed behind him, she realized she was holding her breath and released it. _You really have to figure this out, Rhystara. This is not an acceptable state of mind to continue in._

"Rhysta!"

She froze, and closed her eyes in reservation. The voice had disturbed her so completely she couldn't even identify who it had come from, and at the moment, all she wanted was a moment of peace to herself, where she didn't have to worry about feelings or awkwardness or boundaries. She slowly pivoted around to face the speaker, and heaved a gigantic sigh of relief as Natalia Longfellow closed the last few steps between them and seized her in a vicious hug.

"My lung functions are negligible," Rhysta said, doing her best to enthusiastically return the embrace despite her pinned arms. "You never wrote back after the last letter. I was afraid you'd gone off and eloped with some French suitor."

"French blokes," Natalia spat, pulling back and gripping her forearms with fervor. The short and slightly plump girl wore her dark hair cropped short and straight around her shoulders, with equally pointy eyes that gleamed with affection for those she liked and hatred for those she didn't. "All about the sex. No hearts. You can have 'em all, I'm done." She rolled her eyes and conveyed an expression that Rhystara had come to associate with Natalia's disgust. "And my owl died! Somewhere over the Channel, trying to deliver Daddy's story to the _Prophet_. His managers were furious, and he very nearly killed the bellhop who brought the news. Poor soul... But don't be daft, Rhysta, you _know _I couldn't elope without you with me."

"Whatever you say, darling," Rhysta groaned dryly. "Yet you drop whatever I need your help with the moment a relatively-attractive person walks by."

As if to see if this was true, Natalia glanced off to the side, where a numerous number of students were beginning to strut about the train car, looking for compartments with their friends or for compartments that already contained their friends. Natalia shrugged. "Well, I can't disprove that right now. I don't see anyone relatively-attractive. But speaking of that..." She cocked an eyebrow at Rhysta. "Cora wrote that you were pretty intense with Sidney Acres at a bonfire. Why have I not heard of this from you?"

The stern look she received was good justification to shrink back, aside from the uncomfortable feeling she received. "Um... it wasn't that intense. Look, I've got to go to the prefects' meeting and then we'll have to walk some rounds. I'll find your compartment and then we can talk all about our summer, yeah?"

"You're avoiding the subject, Rhystara Malfoy."

"I am not," she lied. At that moment, the train's whistle blew, signifying their momentary departure from King's Cross. "See? I've got to be off quickly. But we _will_ talk about whatever you want to in a few hours, okay?"

"Want me to take your stuff?" Natalia called blandly, not fooled for a moment.

"That'd be great, thanks."

"Don't think you've escaped me, dark one." Rhysta's best friend brandished a wavering finger in her direction, wagging it threateningly as she hoisted up Rhysta's weightless luggage with her other hand. "I'll pry your deepest secrets from you later."

Rhysta laughed quietly as she moved between carriages. For all of her relentless if relatively fruitless pining after men, Natalia was one of only two of her friends that Rhysta should share internal conflicts with without causing an interhouse quarrel. The other was Cora Naighty, a Hufflepuff sixth-year who had someone wormed her way in her, Natalia's, Angelica's, and a sixth-year Ravenclaw named Sylvia Danis' friend group around third year. Despite the initial preconception that was traditionally given Hufflepuffs by Slytherins, Rhysta had come to truly appreciate Cora's friendship and general non-bitchiness about anything that any of their friends brought up in conversation. In return, Cora treated Rhysta and Natalia closer than any of the others; mainly because Rhysta was the only Slytherin in existence who could keep another person's secrets and because Natalia could make anyone laugh no matter what kind of a mood they were in.

_How did a bitter, sour bitch like me ever wind up with such good friends? _Rhysta didn't like to admit it, but she probably didn't treat her friends as well as she should have. She wasn't a _horrible _friend, and she was very protective of the close ones she had when they got into trouble, but there were multiple instances where she had shrugged off spending time with them or listening to their problems to battle homework and research for her Animagus papers.

_And look where that landed me. _She shook her head at herself, telling herself for the millionth time that she had to stop feeling so much useless self-pity. As she pushed through between another two train cars and felt the train begin to move beneath her, she resolved to erase her inclination to feel sorry for herself and direct that energy instead to her friends. They deserved better than to always have her running away from their adversity, as she had just done to Natalia, and it was high time she, the prefect, went about doing that.

She spent a few minutes making sure she still looked socially acceptable in one of the small train car lavatories, refusing to admit to herself that she was wasting time in order to avoid being in Sidney's presence any longer than necessary, which would have been admitting her less-than-healthy relationship which she didn't have the energy to address. After finally deeming it acceptably close to when the prefect meeting was about to start, she slipped onto the lead train car and managed to enter the prefect compartment behind two very chatty Hufflepuff fifth-years. She immediately snagged a seat near to the door that was immediately next to the Slytherin seventh-year prefect Jazmine Semity, who nodded to her curtly. Sidney, thankfully only nodded and smiled in her direction as she entered, contrary to any additional display of affection she had been fearing.

"Hi, Rhystara," Rose Weasley said to her as she passed, greeting all of the prefects in turn as she moved down the car. "How was your summer?"

"Pretty great," Rhystara faked easily, returning the grin. "And yours?"

"Uneventful," Rose said with a shrug and another smile before moving along.

Rhysta stared after her for a moment. For two families that had a history of hating each other–the Weasleys/Potters and the Malfoys–Rhysta and Scorpius had both gotten along surprisingly well with all of their counterparts around their age level. Except for James and Lily Potter, because he was a git and she was the most annoying little freak Rhysta had ever met, and Fred Weasley because he and James were inseparable and incorrigibly annoying. And Albus... but that was different. She couldn't stand Albus because he was a constant nagging reminder of how low her family had sunk on the wizarding social food chain, and he didn't seem to realize how much he hurt her with seemingly backhanded comments about their families. Scorpius didn't seem to have that problem with his best friend, however. It was just her.

Her and her obsequious night terrors.

Sidney and Rose called the meeting to order at the appropriate time, and took roll call. The only missing person was a fifth-year Gryffindor, who promptly burst through the door apologizing, much to his embarrassment and the amusement of most of those present. Rhysta didn't laugh, mostly because she could sympathize with the poor boy's situation. Rose didn't either, she noted, although Sidney had to turn around in order to hide the chuckle escaping his throat.

Once the sheepish boy had been introduced as Hugo Weasley–evidently the reason behind Rose's glare of annoyance in his direction as he entered–the two Heads set about the business of the meeting, outlining prefect expectations and duties. Rhysta tuned out of it without being disrespectful, glancing out the window and providing adequate input when it was expected. She wasn't well-acquainted with any of the other prefects, except Sidney, she supposed, and so she was waiting desperately for the moment when they were released the make their short rounds of the train cars. The Heads would be responsible for train behavior and discipline thereafter.

She breathed a sigh of relief when they were finally dismissed. She grabbed hold of Garrett Dallus' arm and pulled him along with her so they could finish their rounds as quick as possible. Their brief circuit of a pair of cars only had her loudly breaking apart a pair of snogging Gryffindors and reprimanding a fourth-year idiot trying to impress some girls for walking the corridor without his shirt on.

A half hour later she was strolling along the passages, glancing through the translucent glass panes of the compartments for her friends. Somewhere through her third car searching, she caught a glimpse of two hairs of black head that could have only belonged to her friends, and she strode into the compartment.

"Rhysta!" Angelica exclaimed happily, leaping from her cushion to embrace her friend. Rhysta laughed and threw her arms around her horribly thin friend eagerly. "Natalia was just explaining our plan to grill you about Sidney!"

"Angelica!" Natalia berated.

"Natalia!" Rhysta berated, herself. She glanced between the two friends and shook her head. "At this rate, we won't be friends by the feast tonight. Seriously, can't you just trust me when I say leave it?"

"Come on, Rhysta." Natalia drew out her name in a whine, gesturing behind her. "We're all _dying _to know, you haven't told anyone anything."

From the receiving end of Natalia's indication, Cora and Sylvia nodded eagerly, and Rhysta quickly passed Natalia and Angelica to embrace her other friends, all the while calling back to Natalia, saying, "If I want to tell you anything about Sidney, I'll tell you in my own time."

"Oh, but where's the fun in that?"

Rhysta froze halfway through letting go of Sylvia. Slowly, she turned to the other side of the compartment, the side she'd completely neglected and forgotten existed, apparently. Her brother was perched on the cushion directly across from where she stood, his hands folded in his lap, his expression passive and an eyebrow raised. Back in the far corner of the compartment on that side, behind the door, most conveniently located so that she hadn't seen him when she entered was Albus Potter, a quaffle ceremoniously spinning in his hands.

Instead of addressing her brother's interrogative expression, she turned back to Natalia and threw a thousand mental daggers at her face. Her best friend cowered and shrugged, shrinking back in her seat. "Sorry, Rhysta, this was the only compartment that still had room for the five of us... and it's just Scorpius. He's cute."

"I appreciate that," Scorpius said blandly, now crossing his arms. "But my self-esteem needs no bolstering at the present moment, ladies. I'd much rather hear about my lovely sister's boyfriend. Carry on, please."

"No," Rhysta snapped, intending to indicate that there would be no discussion. Potter glanced up at her from his corner for the first time, and she glared at him so fiercely he immediately looked back down.

"Come on, Rhysta," Angelica crowed happily. "Come clean with us. What have you done with Sidney?"

"I'm not going to discuss this. Not with you, and definitely not with you while my brother's sitting two meters away."

"Oh, he doesn't matter," Natalia insisted. "He's just Scorpius."

"That's the second time in this conversation I've been referred to as 'just Scorpius'," Scorpius stated, feigning offense. "I must protest. I tend to imagine myself as much more important than 'just' someone."

"At least they acknowledge your presence," Potter commented from his corner, tossing the quaffle he was holding into the air and catching it again.

Rhysta glowered at him while addressing Natalia. "And I most certainly will _never_ address any romantic relationship of mine when _he's_ here."

Scorpius glanced at his best friend and grinned. "There you are, Al. Happy?"

"Overwhelmingly."

"Fine," Cora said, entering the conversation. "You don't have to tell us here. I assume you'll be telling us all later, though."

"Doubtful," Rhysta said, sitting down between Angelica and Cora and rubbing at her eyes, suddenly half-wishing she was still at her prefect rounds.

"Why not?" the three girls whined while Sylvia merely smirked knowingly. _Freaking Ravenclaws. She probably knows more about this thing between me and Sidney than I do_.

"Because I'm not comfortable talking about it and nothing's actually happened." Rhysta glared at her brother. "There. Nothing happened. Happy now?"

"Maybe I should chat with dear Sidney and decide that for myself," Scorpius replied.

"Seriously, Scorp, lay off."

"Oh, the drama," Natalia sighed wistfully. "Drama clearly indicates a much greater level of emotional involvement than is shown." Rhysta opened her mouth to snap a retort but Natalia cut her off first. "You can try and deny it and escape it however you want, Rhystara Malfoy, but I'll squeeze the truth from you slowly, even if it crosses every boundary you have. Remember, I _am _a Slytherin."

"As am I," Rhysta retorted calmly. "Just remember that two can play at this game, Natalia, before you make a move. You know what happens every time you try to play chess with me. I have you check-mated before you've even touched a piece."

"I stopped playing with you third year," Natalia said, reaching across Angelica to playfully shove Rhysta's shoulder. Rhysta groaned and inched away from her friend, willing herself to be invisible. "And I _have _become much better since then, regardless."

"Look," Rhysta pleaded, "I just got off prefects' rounds five minutes ago and I'm really tired. If you're going to start pestering me–futilely, I'll add–can you at least wait until tomorrow to do it? We're not even two hours into the Express ride."

Angelica exchanged a look with Cora, Cora exchanged a glance with Natalia, and Natalia exchanged a glance with Angelica. All three girls sighed dramatically while Sylvia ducked her smirk behind a textbook that was upside-down, and Rhysta smacked herself in the forehead.

"_Fine_..." Angelica droned, sulking, drawing her legs up to her chest and tapping her wand against her kneecaps thoughtfully. "We agree to let the matter drop for the next twelve hours. But thereafter, it's fair game, yeah?"

"I wouldn't call it that," Rhysta replied. "Badger Natalia about French boys for a while."

"We already did," Cora complained, glaring across them to the girl in question. "She was _too _forthcoming. We knew everything we did _and _didn't want to know within five minutes."

"Great. Angelica, anything you'd like to report about your summer?"

"Only that I wasn't snogging Sidney Acres, which is more than I can–"

"Sylvia?"

Sylvia put down her book and revealed a completely composed face. Perhaps not the most flashy of girls, Rhysta had always been slightly envious of the nerdy-girl pretty look Sylvia managed to pull off simply by tying her brown hair back and wearing her reading glasses. "I read a bunch of books. This muggle named Ryan who lived down my street practically stalked me for a few days while I was gardening, and then asked me out to dinner."

"Eeewwww," Cora moaned. "What happened?"

"I said yes. He was really sweet, and was perfectly understanding when I told him it wouldn't work because I went to a school a thousand miles away."

"He _stalked _you?" Five heads swung in Potter's direction, while Scorpius shared Potter's look of incredibility as they glared at Cora. "And then you said yes to _dinner _with him?"

"Well, it worked out, didn't it?" Sylvia said sheepishly, ducking back behind her book.

"Shut up, Potter," Rhysta snapped in his direction before turning back to Sylvia. "Was he cute?"

"For a muggle?" She made a show of thinking about it. "Gorgeous."

The other four girls giggled in near-synchronicity, causing Scorpius to turn in his seat so he was facing Potter. "I don't think I can take this much longer. Chances of us finding another compartment?"

"Low," Potter replied, tossing her brother the quaffle. "Better question: chances of us performing killing curses at the same time in order to save each other from this madness?"

"Significantly higher, I'd say."

"Boys," Angelica whispered to Rhysta.

"Boys?" Scorpius repeated. "I don't see Albus and I giggling to each other over every shaggable girl that walks by."

"Probably because the list of girls that would shag either of you is slimmer than your chances of kissing a girl in your lives," Rhysta commented. She drew her own legs up to her chest and stared Potter in the eye as she wrapped her arms around herself. "What about you, Potter? Snag any prize catch this summer?"

"No," Potter replied simply and quietly, which killed the multitude of comebacks she had planned up.

"Not a single one?" Natalia repeated. "A strapping lad like you, Albus? I mean, if I was drunk enough even I'd take you..."

"Thanks for that."

"No problem. What about you, Scorpius? I'll snog you sober."

Rhysta groaned and sunk her head into her hands. "What have we talked about? You hooking up with my brother in my presence, mentally or not, is strictly forbidden."

"You're right, I'm sorry," Natalia admitted, bowing her head towards Rhysta. "I couldn't hook up with Scorpius, anyway. I've heard too many stories about Rhysta walking in on things to develop much of a carnal appetite..."

"Yeah, well," Scorpius deflected, glancing laterally at his best friend, "if you think that's bad, what I've walked in on Al doing would make you sick–"

"And we're done," Potter said, sitting up quickly and wrenching his quaffle back from her brother, socking him in the shoulder for good measure as he went. Rhysta shook her head at them both and pulled a book from her bag, wishing she was in any other compartment except the one that contained her brother and his obnoxious friend. Then she thought about Sidney. _Almost any other compartment_.

The next five and a half hours were spent listening to her friends gossip more about boys, which Potter and Scorpius actively participated in, interestingly enough, a great deal of humor at Potter's expense, which he seemed to take without animosity and resulted in Rhysta's chagrin, and a long argument about Quidditch where Rhysta actually set her book down and got mildly furious during.

"If it's distracting from your studies at all, it's a complete waste of time," she argued as her brother and Potter sat halfway off their seats in anger. "And don't tell me it doesn't distract you, because Mum told me about the howler she sent you over that 'P' in potions mid-sixth year."

"One, it was on a paper he assigned three days before it was due," Scorpius replied. "Two, I got that during Quidditch practice so I wouldn't have been able hear it over Thames' screaming in our ears. Three, we finally devised a spell to destroy one before we opened it." He fist-bumped Potter without looking and then tossed a finger in her direction. "And I had straight E's and an O by the time we lost in the finals last year. And that was just because Gryffindor hasn't had a good Seeker since Al's parents were in school."

"A bunch of blokes waving sticks at each other on broomsticks," Sylvia murmured. "Seems like a big waste of time, but then again, I never have liked sports. I prefer a good mystery or thriller over mindless violence a hundred feet in the air any day."

Scorpius and Potter both drew back, half-seriously, in shock. "How dare you say such a thing?" Potter said, clasping a hand over his heart. "My entire life's dreams have been shattered by your heartless words."

"Figures you would have dreams in the clouds, Potter," Rhysta said, raising an eyebrow. "Right next to where your head is."

Potter's glance darted in her direction, but he visibly made an effort not to bark a harsh retort. For a moment, Rhysta wondered why, but before she could toss another unsavory remark in his direction to egg him on even more, her brother cut between them. "Don't mock our dreams. Al's brother is making more money playing Quidditch this year than our father has made in the last decade. With any luck, Al and I have a chance to do that, too."

"Like, one in a thousand wizards in all of England go pro," Rhysta replied. "You both spend way too much time keeping your mind on the pitch rather than focusing it in the classroom, which is going to earn you your N.E.W.T.'s this year and dominate where you are the rest of your life. Not wasting your time on a stupid sport."

"Don't call Quidditch stupid just because you don't understand it," Potter said strongly, despite how low his voice had suddenly got.

"I _do _understand it," Rhysta replied. "I just think it's a waste of time."

"You don't understand it," Potter insisted, leaning forward in his seat. "You don't understand how it satiates an itch you can't scratch in any other way but being on a broomstick hundreds of feet in the air–" He glanced in Cora's direction. "–doing everything you can to put a ball the size of your head through a hoop barely large enough to fly through from half a pitch away, or else catching a golf ball-sized sphere moving quicker than you could follow it if you were on the ground standing perfectly still. You don't understand how once you get back on the ground and can't even stand because you're so exhausted you feel so completely satisfied that you don't even care that you think you'll never walk again, because you just had the greatest fun of your life. You don't understand, Rhystara, because you've never felt as high, ever, as I do whenever I _touch _a broom. So don't tell me or your brother than you think what we love is a waste of time."

After delivering the spiel and taking a deep breath, Potter sat back in his seat and stared out the train car's window at the darkening landscape, as if to say that the argument was over. The cabin was silent; even Scorpius was staring at his friend with mild surprise. Rhysta was left with a strange feeling that closely rivaled defeat, something she rarely encountered and reacted badly to. She almost spat out some rude statement just to have the final word, but for some reason the look on Potter's face made her hesitate... another action that was uncommon. His eyes were far off, zipping infinitesimally from side to side, as if tracking something very small and very quick. His cheeks were strained as though concentrating, and for a moment she actually felt as though she _did_ understand.

But that would have been admitting she was wrong. She was a Slytherin. He was a Gryffindor. Him winning just didn't happen. So she crossed her arms and let the train keep rolling into the coming night, conversation gradually reemerging amongst the seven of them.

Soon enough, Potter checked his watch and convinced Scorpius to let the girls change into their robes first. They ducked into the hall for the few long moments it took the five squabbling teenagers to pull out their cloaks, rummage through stacks and stacks of magically packed clothes, and pull on their school robes over their smallclothes, undershirts, and leggings. The girls then reciprocated the gesture, allowing the boys their insultingly short amount of time to change, and then all began to prepare their luggage for house-elf transport to their dormitories.

Hogwarts came into view around the traditional corner, and the girls minus Rhysta and Natalia crowded around the window to watch the beautiful, ancient lit castle grow in size as they approached. The Express' whistles blew, and Potter put away his quaffle. The moment the train slowed and braked to a squeaky stop Cora and Sylvia seized Angelica and swept out the door into the hastily-filling corridor, yelling for Natalia and Rhysta to hurry up. Natalia winked for no apparent reason at Rhysta and then seized Scorpius' arm, wrapping it over her own, and leading him out the door despite his perplexed and unsavory reaction.

Which left Potter and Rhysta arriving at the door at the precisely same moment and knocking shoulders together as they both tried to leave.

They bounced painfully off of one another and the doorframe and ricocheted a step back into the compartment. Rhysta sighed and steeled herself for the inevitable angry retort that she would have to throw at his ignorant insult when Potter simply looked down at the ground and gestured for her to go first.

She blinked, caught completely off-guard. Her hesitation was so long that Potter actually looked up and regarded her with suspicion. "You going to go, or what?"

"Yeah," she said, but still didn't move. "Very unlike you. Acting human."

Potter rolled his eyes. "Shut up and go, Rhysta."

_That's better_. She glanced at his neck for a moment as she passed, taking note of the reverse knot and extended tail there. "Your tie's done up wrong."

"It's a fashion statement," he called after her as they both descended quickly from the train car and to the platform.

Some ways down the platform, Rhysta could already make out the towering back of Hagrid stalking away towards the lake, a torrent of excited and terrified first-years alike in his wake. She turned the other way and quickly made her way through the crowd of students in the direction of the carriages. She emerged from the crowd just in time to see Scorpius glance uncertainly over his shoulder once before climbing into a carriage in which sat all four of her friends. At the last moment, Natalia saw her and gestured wildly for her to hurry up. Rhysta had barely taken a step, however, when the door magically swung shut and the carriage darted into motion.

She halted and groaned, just as Potter passed her and then stopped when he noticed she had.

"What's wrong?" he prompted uneasily.

"Nothing," she snapped and strode towards the carriages again. "Just your friend stole away with my friends and left me to ride in a carriage by myself." She made her way up to the carriages and waited for an empty one to climb into. Thankfully, Potter remained a few steps back and she was at least relieved she wouldn't have to share a cabin with him.

The relief was short-lived.

A hand touched her elbow and then Sidney was standing by her side, grinning. "Hey, Rhysta. Thought I'd never catch up with you."

"Sidney," she greeted, trying to sound enthused and thankful he didn't try to kiss her as he took her hand and turned to wait for a carriage with her.

"How was your train ride?" he asked her.

"Boring and miserable," she answered honestly, and didn't resist as he precariously placed an arm around her shoulder. "What about yours?"

"A little better than yours, I'd say," he chuckled. "Got my arse handed to me playing Exploding Snap, pigged out when the trolley came by, listened to the guys talk about their make-out fests with countless girls..." He stuck his tongue out in an intentionally disgusted gesture and eyed her peripherally before glancing away.

She laughed, glad Sidney still had the ability to invoke her sense of humor. "And what did you talk about?"

"Just the couple of girls I made out with in Africa."

Rhysta snapped to attention as her blood slithered cold, and she darted a glance up to see a dodging smile on Sidney's face. He glanced up and away innocently and shrugged. "Just kidding. Making sure you actually cared."

"Of course I do," she said back to him, while debating with herself if she really did. _Well, I was just angry when he insinuated possibly cheating on me, wasn't I? Or was that just because I hate cheaters and it was on me?_ As if to try and convince herself she actually did care, she made herself add, "I wouldn't be with you if I didn't."

A carriage pulled up for them, and Sidney smiled down at her happily as he chivalrously helped her up the step and into its warm interior. She sat down on the side closest to the thestrals that pulled the carriage, which she was thankfully still unable to see. Sidney climbed in and plopped down beside her, still grinning. She opened her mouth to ask him about his summer education when Potter gingerly ducked his way into the carriage and sat across from them in a corner of the carriage.

Rhysta snapped her mouth shut and glared across from him. He ignored it, or else didn't notice it, and simply nodded towards Sidney as he sat down. "Hey, Sidney. How you doing?"

"Not bad, Albus," Sidney greeted friendly, apparently oblivious to Rhysta's silent wishes for Potter to be thrown from their carriage. Too late; even as she begged mentally for it to happen the door magically swung shut and the carriage began to move off towards the castle. "And you?"

"Can't complain. Congratulations on making Head Boy. Rose spent a good hour saying how happy she was you were chosen to be her partner and not somebody like Scorpius."

"Scorpius isn't even a prefect," Rhysta declared, drawing Potter's attention.

Potter shrugged and cocked a grin. "Exactly."

While Rhysta tried to make some semblance of sense from his reply, Sidney diverted the conversation. "Looking forward to the Quidditch season this year?"

"Immensely," Potter said. "I'm sure we'll be able to clobber Ravenclaw this year. Hope you didn't have high hopes for your house, mate."

"Don't count Ravenclaw out just yet," Sidney replied. "We have a tendency of striking high when we're least expected to come through."

"Well," Potter replied with a grin as he leaned his head against the carriage window. "Don't hold your breath for it."

"You're the new Gryffindor captain, right?"

The tension that suddenly seized Potter's body was evident only to one who was paying very close attention. Rhysta noticed it and actually felt a slight twinge of sympathy before Potter disguised it behind indifference. Sidney seemed not to notice. "No. Scorpius actually got that. It's good, he'll lead us to the promised land. He's a great leader. A great best mate."

She sensed the jealousy in his voice, though it was clouded by his skilled overhang of apathy. She attributed her inherited Slytherinness for her ability to detect the emotions people tried to hide even when others couldn't. In one situation, she could have pounced on his hidden discomfort. Instead of entering the familiar verbal combat with Potter, however, she refrained, blinking at herself in self-astonishment at the restraint.

"Well, Ravenclaw's winning either way," Sidney jibed good-naturedly, fooled entirely by Potter's mask.

"Whatever you say, Acres," Potter replied, closing his eyes against the window. "Whatever you say."

With him dozing in the corner, Sidney leaned closer and entered a conversation with her, but she was not paying attention and he apparently did not realize it. Instead, she glanced over at Potter while Sidney was not looking. He had been acting very strange lately; usually her prods and pokes elicited some sharp reactions and retorts, and even some prank retaliation at a later date. Anything she'd thrown at him lately had seemingly just... bounced off. Or been shrugged off. As if Potter didn't care what she said to him anymore.

It was a disruption of the status quo, and, admittedly, coupled with her horrible interview at the ministry after years of work was actually putting her into a sour mood. Or maybe she was overanalyzing again, which made her angry for a number of reasons, the least of which was the fact that she had caught herself feeling sorry for Potter.

_Stop, Rhysta_. She did. She turned away from Potter pointedly, forced herself to tune in to Sidney's one-sided rant over ministry diplomacy, and watched the castle enlarge out of the window of the carriage as they approached.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––-

The feast passed in short order. She and her friends laughed and gossiped over their meal and ate more than they probably should have and had a general good time together after three months having gone their assorted ways.

Professor McGonagall stood up at the end and gave the annual speech about what students should do and what students were forbidden to do and so forth, before dismissing them all to their assorted common rooms, dungeons, and towers so that they may rest in mixed anticipation over the next day's classes.

As the student body rose, the fifth-year prefects scrambling around to assemble the first-years and lead them to the common rooms. Rhysta made to hurry out of the hall with the intention of beating the incoming students to the dungeons and being in her dormitory before the commotion began. She'd barely seized Angelica and Natalia by the wrists and begun to pull them into motion when a little second-year boy rushed up to her and cut her off.

"Rhystara Malfoy," he said politely, holding out a little slip of parchment that had clearly been sent from the professors' table. Rhysta paused and dropped her friends' arms, already sensing where the note had come from and what she would now be forced to do.

"Thank you," she said, taking the parchment roll from the boy and unwinding it as he took off and her friends looked on over her shoulder.

_Miss Malfoy,_

_ Please join me in my office before turning in for the night._

_ Professor Minerva McGonagall_

"Oh," Natalia said as Rhysta stuffed the note into a pocket of her robes. She and Angelica exchanged a glance and then looked back at their friend. "What do you think she wants? Something to do with your private tutoring?"

"I'm sure," Rhysta answered, knowing exactly what Professor McGonagall wanted. "You guys go on to the dormitory. Don't wait up for me, I'll try to be quiet if I have to slip in late."

"We'll wait," Angelica promised, and Rhysta smiled at her before she and Natalia hurriedly rushed off out of the Great Hall, already packed behind the jammed mass of students exiting.

_Yet another thing I don't want to do today._

Rhysta left the Great Hall and set off down the corridors towards the Headmaster's Tower, skirting between students until she passed out of the general mass and was free to walk unobstructed through the halls. It took only a few minutes to climb the few staircases and traverse the few hallways to stand before the gargoyle on the third floor that she routinely passed once or twice a week during school terms.

"Felis catus," she told the gargoyle, and it sprang aside, revealing the passage it protected. Rhysta quickly stepped onto the familiar, moving spiral staircase that carried her upwards until she stood before the twin oak doors adorning the entrance to the Headmaster's office.

Using the sleek silver knocker that was carved in the like of dragonscales, Rhysta announced her presence with three ominous tones. From within, Professor McGonagall's silky stern voice welcomed her in. It didn't surprise Rhysta in the slightest that, although the feast had only ended moments before, the headmistress was already back in her chambers awaiting her visitor.

As she entered, Professor McGonagall stood from behind her desk with a warm smile on her face. Only once before had Rhystara ever received the cold blade of steel McGonagall could wield on her expression, but it had scared her enough to know that she never wanted to experience anything other than this woman's good side. Nearly a century old, the professor still maintained a healthy, if aged, figure and moved easily out from behind her desk to greet her visitor as Rhysta entered, her green and purple robes swishing with her movement and her pointed hat slightly askew atop her head.

"Miss Malfoy, my dear, welcome back to Hogwarts."

Rhysta stepped forward and accepted the hug proffered with a smile, happy to see her favorite teacher once again. "Thank you, Professor. It's good to be back."

After their embrace, McGonagall stepped back and threaded her fingers together, wasting no time with preamble or else trying to conceal the look of excitement and glee that was wonderfully childish and refreshing on her mature expression. "So? How did it go?"

Rhysta kept her face impassive. It was a surprising struggle, she found; a great deal of anger and upset tried to bleed through, but she closed her mental doors to those emotions determinedly. "My interview at the ministry, Professor?"

"Of course."

"I'm afraid it didn't go as I'd hoped," she said quietly, looking down at her shoes and feeling ashamed for not being able to meet her professor's eyes.

McGonagall let the silence rest for a moment, and then sighed. It was not an annoyed exhalation, though, rather being a sympathetic breath. "Oh, my dear, I am so sorry to hear that. What was the problem?"

"It–" Rhysta bit her lip, fighting back the summary of negativity she'd been about to spout, and then threw caution to the wind. Starting with her entrance to the director of the Wizarding Regulations Authority, Rhysta told Professor McGonagall everything that had happened, from how it had all started off spectacularly, how her answers had seemed to please the director, how he had said how impressed he was with her submitted work, and then to how it all turned for the worst when the conversation began to revolve around her family's history. By the end, she had tears in her eyes–a horrifying, embarrassing fact, in itself–and was pacing around in her frustration. "So, from what he said in the end, though he liked all of the work and everything we've done over the past few years, he doesn't think the board will approve the license, because of the things Dad did in the war."

McGonagall sighed again when Rhysta was finally done speaking. With a gentle hand, she guided Rhysta to the chair across from her desk and circled it to face her. After seating herself she nudged the basket of biscuits sitting on the desk towards Rhysta, who, despite having stuffed herself at the feast, took one while wiping away her tears too ridiculously conspicuously.

"I cannot tell you, my dear, how disappointed I am with the ministry," her professor told her, shaking her head. "After all we've been through, I would have thought they would have learned to not judge people from the backgrounds they came from. Especially after the War, and all of the heroes and villains we had on both sides... they should have learned not to trust based solely upon your roots."

"Professor," Rhysta began carefully, nibbling on the biscuit and wrapping her other arm around herself, "My father sort of closes himself off whenever my brother or I bring up the war. I mean, we know most of what he was involved in and everything, but all of the stories, even official ones, show that he switched allegiances against You-Know-Who in the darkest hour. Shouldn't that be enough to ensure his loyalty? Much less _my _loyalty?"

"I'm afraid it's more complicated than that, though I wish it were not. The fact is that in the First Wizarding War, seventeen years prior to the one your father was involved in, many Death Eaters did exactly what your father did and claimed innocence in the face of the law, and were allowed off on that account. When... Voldemort..." Rhysta froze at the name, but managed not to flinch. "...returned and ignited the next war, they turned sides immediately and were back to his. While I do not believe your father would ever do such a thing–set aside the fact that Voldemort is dead–there are many in the ministry and rest of the wizarding world that fear exactly that."

Rhysta bowed her head and stared at the crumbs left in her palm, too tired to be any more upset. "It's not fair. I know that's a weak excuse, and a weak thing to say, in general, but I can't believe I've wasted so much time when they may just reject me on the basis of my father's past."

"Well," McGonagall replied, "don't give up hope yet, dear. There are still good people in the ministry, who realize you are not–and even that your father is no longer–what he was back then. It is just as likely that you'll receive your license as that you won't. We can only hope for best, and wait and see what the result is."

"I hope I haven't wasted your time over the years, Professor, if this was for nothing."

"Never say that," McGonagall snapped, and for a moment Rhysta caught a glimpse of that anger she always secretly feared in her professor. McGonagall sighed and dropped her expression again, taking a moment to calm herself before she continued, "Rhystara, if nothing ever came of anything of your studies, I would not regret my time teaching you. I have not had a student as gifted as you in as long as I can remember, and I assure you, that is a very long time." She paused a moment to chuckle, which Rhysta smiled at, and then added, "Whether rain or shine in this situation, my dear, I know you are destined to do great things in the wizarding world, and I hope, with your permission, that we have the opportunity to continue your private tutelage this year, in perhaps different areas while we await confirmation of your Animagus license."

Rhysta couldn't conceal her relief and happiness if she'd tried. "Yes, Professor, thank you! Nothing would make me more happy!"

"Good." McGonagall gave her kind smile and then glanced at a large grandfather clock in the corner that had neither a minute hand or an hour hand but seemed to be positioned in mid-levitation at exactly the time it was. Rhysta had no idea how to read the thing, but apparently her professor did, for she proceeded to continue, "Now, you had best me off to bed. A big day, tomorrow, for us all, as always, and I wouldn't like my prize student to be too exhausted from staying up late discussing minutiae with the headmistress."

Rhysta blushed at the enormous praise and averted her eyes. "Yes, Professor. Thank you very much."

"Nonsense. May I expect you at seven on Thursday to continue our private lessons?"

"Yes, Professor. I look forward to it."

"As do I. Good night, my dear."

So Rhysta left McGonagall's office with a lighter step than she had entered with. Her professor had managed to end a dismal night with a much better note than she had been expecting, and Rhysta actually caught herself glancing around corners checking if Sidney was out on a late-night round and could be snagged for a secret snog. That being surprising in itself, she hummed a cheery tune as she made her into the dungeons and entered the common room with the first password of the new term.

The dim but snug room full of couches, chairs, and a warm fire was vacant except for a fourth-year boy reading in a corner, who didn't look up when she entered. She quickly crossed the room and stepped down the carpeted spiral stair that led deeper into the foundation to the dormitories of the Slytherin girls. She halted almost all the way down at the door labeled "Sixth-Year Girls - First Order", and opened the door quietly.

She needn't have worried about noise, for she found Angelica and Natalia sitting on the nearest bed just inside the door talking animatedly, while Yondra Tailer and Agatha Springs, the other two girls who shared their dormitory, gossiped on another bed. All four looked up as she entered.

"Hi, Agatha," Rhysta said as she entered and approached her trunk, which was resting on the four-poster bed between the two sets of girls. "Hi, Yondra. I didn't get to talk to you at the feast." _Somewhat because I didn't try._ Yondra and Agatha weren't horrible people to speak with, and they and Rhysta got along fine, but they could get cruel with people they didn't know or like, and for this Rhysta had never been able to get closer to the snotty teenage girls. She had no problem exchanging pleasantries, though.

"Yeah, I'm sorry we missed you," Yondra said.

"Glad to see you now, though," Agatha added, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. "How was your summer?"

"Not bad. Yours?"

"Decent," Agatha nodded, and then promptly went back to her conversation with Yondra.

Angelica and Natalia moved to the bed closest to Rhysta's as she began to unpack her things and place them in the small dresser and bedside table that rested against the stone wall beside her four-poster. Angelina dangled her feet off the bed and kicked them out absent-mindedly as she asked Rhysta, "So what did McGonagall want?"

"Just to arrange our tutoring sessions," Rhysta told them, tearing off her robes and stuffing them into the drawer designated for dirty clothes. She drew her nightgown out from her trunk and kicked the empty luggage piece underneath her bed.

"Oh, good," Natalia said, grinning in relief. "You looked downcast as you told us you had to see her. We were afraid you knew she was going to tell you that she didn't want to continue or something like that."

For the third or fourth time that day, Rhysta wondered both how such caring people could end up with her in _Slytherin_ and how in the magical world she had somehow earned their friendship. She bent over to stuff her other dirty clothes in the drawer after slipping into the gown, taking the opportunity to hide another blush. "Nope. It's all good. We're set to meet Thursday."

"Bad luck for term to start on a Sunday," Angelica whined, grimacing. "Means we've got a whole week to go through before weekend."

Rhysta drew the covers back on her bed and sat down, braiding her golden hair over her left shoulder. "Aren't you excited to be back, though? I've missed my classes."

"You would."

"_I _can't wait to get my schedule tomorrow," Natalia confessed, grinning. "I'm anticipating at least two free periods each day. Gotta keep up my minimal class schedule reputation."

Angelica crossed her legs and folded her hands in her lap, and looked pointedly at Rhysta. "So, my darling, are you finally going to tell us what's going on with you and Sidney?"

Rhysta tied off her braid and began to climb into her bed. "No."

Both of her friends sighed and moaned, "_Rhysta_..."

"Look," she groaned, "I'm not sure if I feel the same way I did when he asked me out but he's been away for so long and we've both been so easy that I'm not sure if that's actually what it is. I mean, the snogging's great, but I don't know if I'm comfortable with having an emotional relationship right now."

"If you're not ready for one," Angelica said, twitching her eyebrows suggestively, "then just have a physical relationship. You just admitted you liked the snogging."

"If you're not in it for the relationship itself," Rhysta countered, "then it's no relationship at all."

"I don't know, love," Natalia stated, shaking her head, "I don't know if I'm old enough to give up on platonic relationships just yet."

Rhysta blew out the candles and the lantern alight on her bedside table and laid her head on the pillow, pulling her covers close and warm before rolling so she was facing away from her friends. "I don't date just to date, or snog just to snog. If I'm going to have a relationship, or maintain this relationship, it's because I'm trying to build something that will last a long time. No other reason."


	6. Chapter 5

**5**

His magical internal alarm went off at six in the morning, and he swore at it as he woke up.

Throwing off his covers, he rolled out of bed and caught himself fluidly as he hit the floor, entering his daily routine of push-ups, letting the flexible movement of his arm and chest muscles clenching and unclenching wake him up. Sweat was already dripping from his brow as he struggled through the fiftieth repetition.

When that was complete he rolled over and started doing sit-ups, glancing over at Scorpius' bed every time he reached a sitting position. His best friend was still sound asleep, facedown in his pillow and snoring horrendously, defying all of nature's laws that decreed he should be suffocating in such a position.

As soon as Albus hit fifty he seized a pillow and walloped Scorpius over the head with it. The Quidditch captain didn't even stir. On the second hit he groaned and dug his face even deeper into the pillow. On the third he whirled over and swung a groggy fist at Albus, who dodged it easily. "What the hell, mate? What the fuck time is it?"

"It's six," Albus said happily. "I'm going out for a run. You coming?"

"Are you bloody _mad_? It's _six_!"

"Mate, I've done this every day for the last two years. And _you _were the one who said you wanted Gryffindor to have morning practices this year."

"Yeah," Scorpius growled, rolling back into his pillow. "During _Quidditch_ season. Not on the first bloody day of term!"

"Suit yourself," Albus said, rummaging in his drawers for sneakers and a hooded sweater bearing the Holyhead Harpies logo. "I'll see you at breakfast."

Scorpius cursed him into his pillow as Albus left the dormitory. The common room was silent as a tomb, the fire newly restocked for the morning by unseen house-elves. Albus pulled the sweater over his bare chest as he stepped through the portrait hole and set off downstairs, towards the main entrance hall. He loved the springy, energetic feeling in his legs as he rushed down the stairs, his steps echoing off of the tall walls.

He wasn't the only one out and about. He passed Professor Clay, the Muggle Studies teacher, as the older man headed away from the direction of the Great Hall, nibbling on a bagel. Mrs. Norris–cat of one Mr. Argus Filch, both of whom students were beginning to think were impossible to kill–was also slinking in and out of the shadows, and Albus glanced around for the caretaker carefully before aiming a kick at the little beast.

The air was cool in the September morning. He rushed out of the courtyard at a stride-out pace and entered his normal jog as he lounged past the forest rim and out towards the lake. Once or twice a year he tried to make it all the way around the lake in a single jog, but the circumference took almost an hour and a half to encompass, so he chose to span around its northern edge for a bit before looping and turning back. The pounding of his breath and the sweat running down his face felt good after the gorge fest he and his friends had indulged in at the feast the previous night. The giant squid saluted him with raised tentacles a few times as he ran along the lake's rim.

He considering stopping by Hagrid's hut for tea by the time he returned to the castle panting around seven o'clock, but decided not to intrude on the old family friend before breakfast on a very busy day of term. Instead, he returned to Gryffindor Tower and showered. Scorpius was awake and ready by the time he returned to the dormitory to change into his robes by seven-thirty, and they walked down to breakfast along with Evan, who wouldn't stop apologizing for neglecting them on the Hogwarts Express in favor of prefect duties.

"Evan!" Albus finally cried as they slid onto benches in the Great Hall, next to Rose and Dominique. "Seriously! We don't even care, it's no big deal! Get over it, mate!"

"What's he on about, then?" Rose asked, pouring herself a juice and offering the flagon to Albus.

"Just some stupid shit about being better than us," Scorpius answered.

"I'm sorry!" Evan groaned, and Albus put an end to it by throwing a Danish cream at his face once and for all before reaching for the copy of the Prophet that Rose had just set down next to their plates.

"You know," Rose reprimanded as he flipped right to the Quidditch section, scanning the headlines for his mother's name, "you could really get more out of the paper if you actually read something other than Quidditch statistics."

"Come off it, Rosie," Scorpius said while heaping his plate full of potatoes and eggs. "You could get more out of life if you just dated a bloke or played a prank every once in a while."

"Shut up, Malfoy. Some of us have more important duties than goofing off and compiling rosters in every one of our classes."

"For your information, I happen to spend every class _and _all of my homework time compiling rosters..."

"Shit," Albus groaned, throwing the paper down. "Harpies lost to Ballycastle."

Evan gave him a pointed glare across the table. "I still think it's weird how your favorite team is all witches."

"My mother played for them," Albus appealed easily, shrugging and taking a bite from his freshly-buttered toast. "If James didn't like doing what he does to girls so much I'm sure he'd get a sex change so he could play for them, too."

While Evan, Dominique, and Rose all cringed at the visual image Albus had created, Scorpius picked up the paper and leafed through it. "Anything else interesting in the standings?"

"Chudley lost."

"Well, even _Rose _could have told me that..."

"Malfoy, I _swear to Merlin_–"

"Oh, look!" Dominique exclaimed, half-intentionally diverting the bickering between Albus' best friend and cousin to point up at the Great Hall's ceiling as the artificial sky began to teem with owls. "Our schedules are here!"

"Goodie," Scorpius groaned, going back to his breakfast. Rose shot him a furious glance, but declined to respond as birds began to drop on them left and right. They each detached the small roll of parchment on each of their corresponding owl's leg and unrolled it eagerly.

"Ancient Runes first thing on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays," Albus announced, glancing over to confirm that Rose had the same class listing. He also saw that they had Transfiguration together third block, a period they shared with Scorpius.

"Blah," Dominique groaned, slumping her head onto the tabletop. "We all have Double Potions right after lunch."

"On Mondays," Albus said, looking down his schedule with glee. "But on Tuesdays and Thursdays I have History of Magic right after lunch. Merlin bless nap time! And then a free period right after that."

"Oh, the Quidditch plays to be drawn up!" Scorpius agreed happily.

Rose grunted at them and tore Albus' schedule out of his hands. "You're not going to have any time to be drawing up anything, Al! You have Advanced Herbology for a double period right before that. _And _you're taking Alchemy and Arithmancy. There's no way you can waste that kind of time and get all of your homework done."

"Watch me." Albus grinned and snatched his schedule back, stuffing it deep in his robe pocket and finishing off his toast.

"It's N.E.W.T. year! You can't just slack off."

"Come on, Rose," Dominique said dryly. "It's _Albus_! You know he'll just kick back until test day and then whip an O out of his pants on a whim. And no–" She thrust a finger in his face as he prepared a mischievous remark. "–that had absolutely nothing to do with your sexual prowess that your cousins have thankfully never been exposed to hearing of."

"Well, I would certainly hope not."

They finished their breakfast, Rose and Scorpius clashing a few more times over a number of stupid things, and then parted ways; Albus and Rose climbed up to the fourth floor to Professor Hastings' classroom, while Dominique and Scorpius set off for the greenhouses and Herbology. Evan, poor soul, had to drag himself up to the Astronomy Tower by himself to drudge through an agonizing double period with Professor Sinistra, which also kept him out of their second block Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Rose and Albus were the first to arrive, fifteen minutes before the Ancient Runes class started. They took seats in different rows, part of an unspoken agreement that they'd had since second year that they were competitors instead of partners. It was another five minutes before the next two students entered, two Ravenclaw girls their year who greeted Rose and glared at Albus–who couldn't remember having ever had relationships with either of them–before seating themselves right before Hastings desk.

The next two, and last two, students to arrive walked through the door one after the other. The first was Rhystara Malfoy, clutching books to her chest with her golden hair hanging loose and wavy around her face, who barely glanced in Albus' direction before she beelined for Rose's desk and dropped her books into the empty seat beside his cousin. Greg Sleever of Hufflepuff, also a seventh-year, walked in right after her and briefly surveyed the room before trotting over to Albus.

"That seat taken?" he asked.

Albus kicked it out for him and grinned. "Not if you don't sit down, mate."

"Charmed," Greg said, dropping his stuff down and throwing himself down. He stuck out his hand and Albus shook it strongly. "Never had much reason to talk to you before, Albus, but it'd be great to be mates if we're gonna plow through this class together."

"No reason it's got to be that tough," Albus replied. "It's my favorite subject, actually."

"Good," Greg replied with a grimace, pulling his textbook over and staring at the cover, "because I've honestly no clue. So I apologize in advance for how much covering you're going to have to do in group work. I'll give you what I've got, but I'm afraid it might not be much. I'm only taking this advanced course because was disappointed that I'm taking N.E.W.T.'s with the intent to train magical creatures."

"Nothing wrong with that," Albus said. "My great-uncle Charlie has published almost twenty papers on dragons and their natural tendencies and habitats. He was in the running for an Order of Merlin a few years back for it."

At that moment, Professor Hastings walked into the classroom and all six of his students turned their attention to him. Part of the reason Albus loved Ancient Runes so much was undeniably the professor. Kenneth Hastings was a tall, early-forties man who Rose was practically in love with, a former Australian national Quidditch player who had been forced to retire after an accident while studying hieroglyphic markings on a dig down under. McGonagall had reputedly offered him a salary greater than his professional sport pay to teach at Hogwarts, and he'd been teaching there ever since. Despite the years and his injury, he was as lean and as fit as ever, and girls all Hogwarts over tripped and made fools of themselves whenever he happened to walk by.

"Good morning to you all," Professor Hastings announced as he crossed behind his desk, his Australian accent accentuating his speech. Albus rolled his eyes at Greg as Rose and Rhysta both melted beneath his voice visibly and the two Ravenclaw girls actually _sighed_. "Although our class size is small, I'm glad to see you've all chosen to stick with your advanced Ancient Runes this term." He glanced over them all in turn, smiling at them kindly. "Rose, excellent to see you. Rhystara, you as well."

"Isn't she a sixth-year?" Greg asked in a whisper, leaning towards Albus, who nodded.

"She's a genius, though," he added, eyeing the girl in question carefully. "I hear she's already passed her Transfiguration N.E.W.T., too."

"Greg," Hastings continued, grinning back towards the two boys. "I'm glad you decided to stick with Runes. I know how hard you worked at them last year. Albus. Going out for the team this year?"

"No, sir," Albus deadpanned, and Hastings nodded sarcastically.

"Of course, and the Cannons are in first place. Tell Malfoy I'm watching that hitch in his pass, this year."

"Yes, sir."

Hastings winked, before turning to the Ravenclaws. "Stephanie, Laura, lovely, lovely..." He murmured to himself and glanced down at his notes before looking back up to the class. "So. First day of a new term. First class of a first day. I can imagine that we're all still adjusting, so I don't want to overdo things on the first day. On Wednesday we'll review a little about the nature and more magical meanings of Runes before diving right into medieval Chinese markings, but for today I'd just like to start by having you try to write and translate messages in classic Latin script marking between the pairs you've set up here, to dig up all the symbols we've all probably stopped thinking about for three months. That sound acceptable to all of you?"

A chorus of "yes, sir"s chorused about the room, and then Hastings returned to his desk. Six people pulled out quills and scrap pieces of parchment and set to work, quietly chatting between themselves.

"What the hell..." Greg hissed under his breath as Albus began to rapidly jot down symbols in long-hand. "I can't even _remember_ that many symbols, much less write them all down in coherent order? How do you do that?"

Albus shrugged nonchalantly. "I've studied them intensively in the past. It's easy enough if you just spend time memorizing and practicing them."

"Mate, that's complex."

"It's not that bad," Albus replied, taking his parchment and folding it carefully into the shape of a butterfly. After it was complete, he set it on his open palm, tapped it once with his wand, and blew a low stream of air into it, sending it fluttering off in the direction of the Ravenclaw girls.

"What did it say?" Greg asked as it landed in Stephanie's hair, and Laura picked it out methodically.

Albus smirked at Greg. "It said 'Professor Hastings is soooooooo cute, isn't he?'."

Greg managed to snicker and gape at the same time. "You know how to write that in Latin runes just like that?"

Albus just shrugged again and ducked his head as he watched the Ravenclaw girls first puzzle themselves over the paper, double-take, argue for a moment between themselves underneath their breaths, and then swivel around to glare at Albus. He looked over their shoulders, unbeknownst to them, as Professor Hastings rose from his desk and began to meander around to glance at their work. While they continued to stare at Albus, the professor sauntered by and glanced down in passing at Albus' scrawled message, sighing at what he read there, an action which caused both girls to swing around in alarm.

"You're not bad yourself, Albus," he mocked before actually rolling his eyes and moving on towards Rose and Rhysta.

"Thank you, sir," Albus called cheerily, and both he and Greg had to double over behind their desks as both Ravenclaws turned beet red in Professor Hastings' wake.

It was a few moments before they were able to straighten up and receive the paper hornet that stung Albus' neck bringing their reply. Greg struggled over it for several minutes, refusing to allow Albus' to see it until he'd deciphered it himself. After sticking his tongue between his teeth and nearly popping a blood vessel or two, he finally pushed it away and announced simply, "Well, that wasn't very nice of them to say."

The rest of the class was spent relatively the same. Albus passed Professor Hastings a few notes asking for Quidditch tips that were returned with dramatically useless sayings such as "Fly straight" or "Don't fall". Greg suffered a few moments trying to politely greet Rose and Rhysta, and ended up sending on a piece of paper Albus didn't have the heart to correct him on. Rose's peals of laughter were enough to let his partner know his mistakes, however, and he groaned as he desperately flipped through his textbook.

"I don't know how I can do this, mate," Greg complained. "This isn't making any sense to me."

"You just need practice, that's all," Albus insisted. "Here, just watch me write one out. What should I tell to someone?"

Greg glanced around the classroom at their limited options and settled on the Gryffindor and Slytherin sitting to their front and right. "Ask Rose to the next Hogsmeade weekend."

Albus blanched. "Whoa... you do know _we're _cousins, right?"

"Well, that was kind of the point," Greg answered, looking back and forth between the two of them and throwing his arms out. "Be just plain weird, you know? But if you don't want to do that, then ask Rhysta."

"She'd kill me for doing that," Albus declared, crossing his arms and avoiding the mental picture of his guts spilling about the Ancient Runes classroom. "Not to mention what Scorpius will do to me if he finds out I pulled a prank on his sister without cluing him in on it. _Or _what he'd do to me if he actually thought I meant it."

"I'll give you a sickle to do it."

"Hand me that fucking quill."

He scribbled out the necessary runes in short order, spending a tricky amount of time charming the paper into the form of a lion that he carefully set on the floor. He and Greg watched it go prancing around the classroom, between and over desks and chairs, before pouncing onto Rhysta's lap and giving a roar that sounded like tearing parchment. Greg nearly died of wracking laughs before she had even opened the paper, solely amused by the perplexed look on Rose's face.

Albus watched as Rhysta carefully picked up the lion and unfolded it, reading the script within. Her face was completely blank as her eyes darted across the length and deciphered the message. He was impressed to see that she wasted no time on the reply, spending barely ten seconds scribbling something on another slip of parchment and twirling it swiftly into an arrow that she nonchalantly tossed over her shoulder without looking.

It soared across the room, its point hitting Albus square in the chest. "Ow," he muttered, rubbing at his sternum as the arrow unfolded in his lap. He read the message and raised an eyebrow.

"What did she say?"

"That you need to pay me more." Albus crumpled the piece of paper and added it to their pile of rubbish as Greg's jaw dropped.

"She did _not _say that."

Albus seized the roll he'd just crushed into a ball and handed it to Greg, who unrolled it himself and gaped at it, spending twenty seconds to properly translate it himself. "How did she do that? Is there an Extendable Ear around here?"

"Nope," Albus said, finishing off a second note. Instead of making a careful shape, this time he simply smashed it into a sphere and hurled it by hand across the room. His aim was true, courtesy of hundreds of hours hurling quaffles; it soared straight and far and bounced right off the back of Rhysta's head. She whirled around and sent a various number of nonverbal curses at him with her eyes as she snatched the paper from beside her chair and uncrumpled it.

"What did that one say?"

"I asked her if she'd go with me if you paid me two sickles," Albus said, leaning back in his chair and smirking at his partner while folding his arms behind his head and closing his eyes. "By the way, you owe me a sickle."

Greg grumbled a curse, and the sound of rustling pockets followed. It was interrupted by the smack of something hitting clothing and a mumbled "ow" from beside Albus.

"What did she say this time?"

He waited a moment while Greg pondered the response and hesitated. After a moment, the crumpling sound of parchment met Albus' ears and Greg grunted. "Well, that wasn't very nice, either."

Albus laughed just as the bell rang, and Professor Hastings cleared his throat. "Good work today. If you could all make sure you read pages 76 through 130 in your textbook by Wednesday, we can begin on schedule. Have a good day, everyone."

"Right, mate," Greg said, hoisting his knapsack over his shoulder as they all stood. "Well, if I don't see you before Wednesday, I'll see you."

"Cheers," Albus said, waiting for Rose as the Ravenclaw girls bustled out with Greg.

His cousin was smiling and finishing a conversation with Rhysta before they both slung their bags over their shoulders and began to make their way towards the door. Albus and Rhysta made eye contact just before she reached the door, and a barely perceptible arm motion by her side sent Albus reeling for his wand instinctively as her lips moved without sound.

"_Protego_!" he yelled, whipping his wand up and only just managing to deflect whatever harmless but silly jinx Rhysta had just sent at him. Surprised and agitated, he took a step towards her and cried, "Hey!"

She just smirked at him and walked out the classroom door. Rose wore a similar expression and waited for him patiently by the door. Looking anywhere for sympathy, Albus turned back towards Professor Hastings, only to find his favorite teacher wearing a knowing grin despite staring straight down at his desk and scrawling away at a wide piece of parchment.

"What the hell was that for?" he asked Rose.

His cousin shrugged and skipped out the door, dragging him in her wake. "Probably just for being a prat."

"How is asking her on a date being a prat?" Albus growled innocently.

Rose glared at him until he was forced to avert his eyes, and they walked to Defense Against the Dark Arts in silence. Thankfully, Scorpius had the class with them, and Albus spent the majority of the period skulking with his best friend in the back of the room, complaining about Rhysta's attempt to hex him. Scorpius apparently found it amusing, which only increased Albus' irritation.

"It's kind of funny," Scorpius whispered.

"She could have done serious harm!" Albus protested, keeping one eye on Professor Jenkins and the lesson being taught that he'd taught himself in fourth year. "You know how Slytherins can be with their hexes."

"You do realize you're expecting me to be sympathizing with you over my sister when she tried to hex you because you were making fun of her..."

"It was just a joke!" Albus growled for perhaps the eighth time.

"Well, it sure sounds like you deserved it," Scorpius flicked a paper at Albus' forehead and leaned over to begin taking notes, leaving Albus to sulk in his wounded pride.

By the time the next bell rang, his mood had improved to the point where he was willing to put his life on the line by leaping between Rose' and Scorpius' arguments. Scorpius said something about Rose' slithery patronus which forced a harsh retort and then he was forced to separate them with a drawn wand before blood was spilled. By the time they got to their Transfiguration class, the two were about ready to kill each other, and Albus felt exhausted anew.

The only thing that could've made him more tired was when Rhysta stalked into the classroom and sat down next to Rose in one of the front rows. He scoffed as he and Scorpius collapsed into a pair of seats in the back. "Great... _two _classes she can murder me in. Damn it, Scorp, I thought your sister already passed her Transfiguration N.E.W.T."

"She did," Scorpius replied, patting him on the shoulder. "She said she wanted to take the class anyway, 'cause, you know, she taught herself half of it the first time and McGonagall did the other half. I'm glad to see you and her are back to your normal state of trying to kill each other, though. You had me worried for awhile, being indifferent and what."

"What do you mean by that?" Albus asked, glancing around the classroom at the trifecta of Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, and Slytherins packed into the large classroom.

"You've just been taking everything lately when she was around and insulting you. No comebacks. I was starting to worry if you were critically ill or something."

"No distractions, mate. Remember what I said? Your annoying sister was definitely a distraction."

Professor Donovan called the class to order and cut off their conversation. _Oh, how despairing are the classes in which I must actually pay attention_. Instead of taking out his books and notes as Scorpius was doing, however, Albus found himself staring at the back of Rhysta Malfoy's head, inexplicably taking careful note of her slim hand drawing all of her golden hair over her left shoulder as she shuffled papers around with her right. Scorpius broke him from his trance by asking for a spare quill, and Albus didn't bother sparing another glance at her as he handed his friend his and rummaged in his pack for another.

Professor Donovan spent the first half hour of class outlining his expectations for the term and then delving into a short explanation of the transformative properties and differences between metal and wood. After making sure they had all carefully noted all of the necessary components in their papers, Donovan drew twenty five identical metal blocks from behind his desk and began to traverse the room with the mass of them floating at his back, assigning partners from opposite ends of the room and opposite houses a brick to transform them with their mental acuity into an assortment of geometric shapes. Albus and Scorpius groaned when they realized his pattern; they both had bad history being paired with any number of Slytherins in the room. Albus glared across the room at Lyle Markinson, with whom he'd brawled frequently with both on and off the Quidditch pitch, already sneering at him across the room.

"Let's see, now," Professor Donovan said, arriving at Albus' and Scorpius' row and glancing about the room for unpaired Slytherins. "Mr. Malfoy, kindly take this brick and go practice with Mr. Markinson. Try not to draw blood."

"Professor!" Scorpius protested, as Albus exhaled in relief, "it's Albus' turn to be paired with Markinson, I had to be with him in Potions all last year."

"It is regrettable that I do not control the Potions rotations, as well," Donovan agreed, nodding. "But I'm afraid that you sister is the only other unpaired Slytherin, and I think a little bit of unfamiliarity is what you need."

Scorpius' mood swung in the entire opposite direction, judging from the smug look he suddenly shot at Albus, and Albus' relief transformed into dread. "Professor, I've decided I'll gladly take Markinson as my partner."

Donovan gave them both a pointed look and dropped two blocks on their desks. He looked at Scorpius and pointed at Markinson and then at Albus before pointing towards the front of the room and Rhysta. Albus glanced after his finger and caught Rhysta's eye. He watched her realize what was happening, and was able to notice a classroom away as her face paled.

Simultaneously, the two boys dropped their heads onto their desks loudly and groaned. Scorpius said, "Good luck, mate."

"I fucking hate my life. How long until the first Quidditch match?"

They grabbed their bricks and slung off to their respective partners. Albus made sure to check Rose's vacated seat for any sort of invisible trap before he slid into it precariously, setting the brick before Rhysta.

"You can go first," he said, motioning grimly towards it.

Rhysta narrowed her eyes at him and tapped the brick without looking at it. Almost immediately, its surface began to ripple and stretch. He almost jumped in his chair as it suddenly imploded and then began to split into a great number of sides. A moment later, a perfect metallic dodecahedron was sitting on the desk, and Rhysta hadn't moved her furious gaze.

"Nice," Albus said grimly. She didn't move or turn away, and he sighed, rubbing at his eyes. "Look, if we've gotta do this together, then I guess I'll go ahead and apologize. It was just a joke, so I don't really know what you're so mad about."

Rhysta tapped the dodecahedron and a moment later the brick had returned as if its shape had never been altered in the first place. "You're such a jerk."

"It was just a joke, Rhysta..."

"There's more to life than just making jokes," she snapped at him, snorting. "You and Scorpius both. You think schoolwork is just one giant joke that you can just laugh away and then go make fools of yourselves on brooms."

"Are we really going to get into that discussion again?"

Rhysta shook her head and slapped the brick. "Just change it into something, so we can get this over with."

Albus looked away grudgingly, feeling as though he were a child that had just been slapped on the back of the hand and told to just go out in play instead of understanding what the adults were talking about. He turned back to the brick and envisioned the laws and morphs Professor Donovan had just had him scribble down. He took a deep breath and then tapped the brick with his wand. Nothing happened for a moment, and then the surface bubbled feebly for a few moments. The surface melted into a gelatinous mess and then coalesced in a rounded, oblong shape with a number of lumps. As it solidified, it rocked back and forth, clearly out-of-round with itself and poorly constructed.

He slumped in defeat, while Rhysta laughed at him. "Pathetic."

"Sorry," he mumbled, sounding exactly as she'd described him, and tapped the strange shape again. It underwent the same process, and got closer to the sphere he'd been aiming for. He sighed as the lumps disappeared, but it was still longer than it was wide and assumed a final form sort of like a dragon's egg. He dropped his wand onto the desk and glanced back through his notes before he realized that Rhysta was glaring at him. "What?"

"What the hell is wrong with you?" she spat angrily.

He recoiled, and felt his own anger rising from within. "Look, I'm sorry! I can't exactly pick up advanced transfiguration on a whim like you can, and I certainly haven't studied it before."

"That's not what I mean," she said, shaking off his apology and excuse. "Why aren't you insulting me back? That's been how it is lately. You don't retaliate in any way, you just walk away or mumble something or bow your head and piss yourself. What's going on?"

"You, too?" he cried incredulously. "First Scorpius, now... Merlin, why do you even care? You should love having the opportunity to tear me apart."

"It makes me think you're dying or something," she said, almost managing to sound concerned and tapping the metal mass again to return it to brick formation.

"Afraid you won't get the chance to kill me yourself?"

"You may be a good-for-nothing prick who deserves to spend eternity with the squid in the lake," Rhysta told him, "but even I don't want you dead."

"Your affection is heart-warming." Albus picked his wand back up and hit the brick, and was pleased to see the metal shift until it formed a cube that was close enough to be considered perfect.

"So what is it, then?"

"What is what, then?"

"Why are you acting like a little girl, and running away and crying every time I call you ugly?"

"As much as your words scar me, deep, deep, _deep_ in my heart..." He made sure to feign misery until the common look of irritation entered her eyes. Her swirling green eyes. "I don't think you've ever actually driven me to tears. In answer to your question, if there was even a question lurking behind that hateful statement, I haven't been fighting back because I don't think I want to fight at all. I don't have the energy to spare."

"What does that mean?" she retorted derisively.

"It's all about Quidditch, dear Miss Malfoy," Albus said. "No distractions."

She shook her head at him, threading her fingers together and forcing them away from her body to crack her knuckles. "You're so dumb sometimes, Potter." He flinched, thankfully beyond her gaze, at the way she sneered his name. "It's just a game. And if you're so tightly wound up in making sure you ignore everything except the game, you're not going to do well _in _the game, and then all hopes of going pro are dead anyway."

"For someone who I'm born to disagree with," Albus admitted reluctantly, "that actually made sense. Still doesn't mean fighting you is healthy."

"Mr. Potter! Miss Malfoy!" Donovan barked, passing by their desks and observing their stationary brick. "Less flirting, more transfiguring!"

The two of them both stopped with their mouths open, watched their professor walk away, and then exchanged a strange glance with both of them frowning at one another. Rhysta touched wand to the brick's surface and made it into a perfect hourglass, and then Albus touched it and it assumed the shape of hippogriff, which would have been brilliant if not for the fact that he'd been aiming for a tetrahedron.

"Is it really easy for you?" Albus asked genuinely, staring at his failure intently. "Or have you just worked at it so much that it's second nature?"

"A little of both, I think," she told him, looking elsewhere and twisting her wand between her hands. "It's easy because I've worked so hard at it. But I've worked so hard at it because I love it so much."

"Are Slytherins capable of love?" Albus prodded, and immediately muttered "_Protego_" under his breath, just in case.

Rhysta didn't even flinch at his jab. "You're not too bad at this, actually." She glanced around, and Albus followed her eyes as they ran across some colossal failures being mourned by other students. Then he blinked, realizing she had just praised him. Sort of. "If you just apply yourself, Potter, you're actually decent at your schoolwork. As you should be, if you have someone as gifted as Rose as your cousin."

"Careful, girl," Albus warned half-seriously, the other half melodically taunting her. "That's twice in as many sentences you've paid Gryffindor compliments. Soon enough you'll find yourself in love with one."

She tapped the metal without looking at him. Quicker than his eyes could register, the shape narrowed to a thin cylindrical shape that bent and resolved itself in a metallic face, a hissing tongue shooting out below two glowing eyes. The transfigured serpent hissed at Albus and lashed out at him, and he yelped and nearly fell backwards in his chair, barely managing to catch himself on the desks behind him as the two boys paired up there swore in surprise. By the time he'd righted himself, the serpent had disappeared: the metal brick lay on the table as if it had never changed shape at all.

Albus apologized sheepishly to the people behind him and then swung around to kill Rhysta with his glare. She smirked back at him triumphantly.

"Don't hold your breath, Potter."

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––– ––––––––––-

The rest of the day took a long time to pass. The first day of term was usually endless, but Albus felt it dragging specifically long for undisclosed reasons his seventh year. After lunch, Double Potions was spent in agony trying to stay awake through Professor Slughorn's monotony, and then his first day in Alchemy–where, thankfully, he avoided being paired with Rhysta Malfoy–consisted of copying down tables, formulas, ingredients, and incantations almost as quick as he could write them down.

As a result, he was tired and cradling a cramping hand as he slumped down next to Scorpius in the Great Hall for dinner. "What am I being punished for? I have an essay to write by _Wednesday_, already, and I just realized our bloody Potions tables are fucked up, so we have to redo all those, as well."

"Whatever," Scorpius replied. "Longbottom said my essay from the summer was _too long_... too long! He's making me shorten it before the weekend. For the first time in my life, Al, I want to kill the Head of my own House."

"Crybabies."

Both of their heads snapped up to glare across the table at Rose, and just like that they were united on the battlefront. "And how were _your _classes, _Rose_?" Albus snapped.

"Did you manage to remember not to beg your professors for more notes?" Scorpius followed.

"Did you cry because your textbook condition was too new?"

"Was Professor Slughorn too _easy _on the homework for you?"

To their detriment, she only smirked back at them. "It's okay, boys. The sun will come up in the morning."

"Not if Albus bloody gets me up at six again, it won't," Scorpius growled, turning his anger back on his best friend as he seized a bread roll and stuffed it furiously into his mouth.

"You woke up at six this morning?" Dominique asked incredulously, glaring at Albus. "What in Merlin's name for? That's, like, earlier than McGonagall wakes up."

"I doubt that," Albus replied. "I was just going for a jog."

Evan slid in next to Dominique and Rose on the other side of the table and picked up their conversation easily. "Yeah, and you woke me trying to wake Scorpius up. At least cast '_Muffliato_' on me next time. I lost an hour of sleep because of you."

Albus shrugged and dug into the pork chops he pulled onto his place, resting his chin on a hand and yawning. "I'm feeling that hour right now. I hope Professor Slughorn notices when Quidditch practices begin, or else I'll never be able to cover both his Potions homework and his Alchemy assignments." He bristled inwardly in envy, but on the outside he only turned to Scorpius and said, "Speaking of that, when are practices going to start, Captain?"

Scorpius tried to say something, but his mouth was too full of food and Rose blanched in disgust. After swallowing, he tried again. "I was thinking next Saturday in the early morning. That will give people time to settle in before having to focus on their Quidditch skills."

"A little late, isn't that, Scorp?" Evan commented. Though he wasn't on the team, he was probably Albus' and Scorpius' most devoted fan. Rose and Dominique came to their matches, but always made a point of commenting on how rowdy and rude their fellow students were before paying them any compliments on their play. "I mean, I heard Hufflepuff was already having them this Sunday."

Albus agreed with Evan; two weeks into term seemed too late. If _he'd _been captain...

_But I'm not_. So instead he bit his tongue and forced himself to focus on his plate, attentively committing the shape of his mashed potatoes to memory instead of imagining how he would've whipped his team into shape. Scorpius was the captain; it was Scorpius' decision, and it was his duty as Scorpius' best mate and wingman to trust in his choices.

"Slow and steady wins the race, Evan," Scorpius answered, looking down at his plate. Seven years of trust and companionship had taught Albus when his best friend was uncomfortable. Now was one of those times, and his jealousy was overcome with the uncontrollable urge to help his down brother.

"It's not good to start too early, anyway," he declared, nodding strongly. "Besides, Norton is just desperate to get Hufflepuff back from the bottom of the standings. Starting this week is only going to exhaust his team before their bodies have a chance to adjust back into their schedules."

Scorpius perked up a little at his words, and even Rose seemed to agree that his statement had merit. Albus grinned good-naturedly at Evan to ease all boundaries, and they all returned to their meal. After a moment, Evan asked Dominique, "How was your day, Dom? As boring as the rest of us?"

"Except for Ancient Runes," Dominique answered, and sighed dreamily, causing the three males to duck their heads in preemptive attempts to avert their coming laughter. "Professor Hastings is _so _hot! Do you think he still works out?"

Scorpius lost it, but made a show of coughing up his potatoes. Albus and Rose shared a knowing glance and he quickly turned away to hide his humorous wracking. Evan somehow managed to keep it together, following up with, "I'm sure he does his best to keep in shape. I have to remember to ask him if he went on that dig in India he was meaning to go on this summer..."

"Oh!" Dominique squealed. "Can you imagine him digging in the dirt with an ax, no shirt on, _dripping _with sweat?"

"Kill me now," Albus whispered to Scorpius, who was still down for the count and almost crying with his peals.

"Dominique," Rose chastised with a loud sigh. "Do you _ever _think you'll manage to act just a little bit mature, love?"

Dominique's face fell. She looked so crestfallen that Evan and Albus actually turned to glare at Rose, as Dom stuttered, "But... Rose... but... you can't tell you haven't thought about him that way at least _once_!"

Rose ducked her head into her hands while Evan tried to stuff his amusement with vegetables. Albus thought eagerly of dead Pygmy Puffs, and managed to keep a straight face. He was about to act the good Samaritan and change the subject before people started taking sides, but stopped when he heard his name being called from down the table.

"Albus!"

Lily came rushing up between rows of tables, red braid trailing behind her, her face distraught and an opened letter clutched furiously in her hand. "Albus! You need to see this, right now."

"What is it?" Albus asked frantically, standing up as his sister reached him. He took in her downtrodden expression and immediately feared the worst. James falling off his broom during a Magpie practice... their mother finally losing it and slinging hexes at her boss, only to be brought up on charges...

"Here." Lily thrust the letter into his hand. Her normally cheery face was almost ashen. "Read it."

Albus carefully took the letter and turned back to the table, leaning over beneath the light of a candle and holding the sprawled script he recognized after a moment as his mother's close:

_Lily,_

_ I've sent a copy of this to your brother, too. The _Prophet_ will be publishing this tomorrow, anyway, so you'll know about it soon enough, but your father and I wanted to clear things up so that you didn't worry when you read it there..._

_ Your father is involved in an investigation and traveled to Edinburgh today to ask a wizard some questions. When he got there the wizard attacked him, and he was involved in a duel. Don't worry, he wasn't hurt at all, but when your father gained the upper hand and it was clear the attacker was going to lose he locked himself in his house and collapsed it on top of himself._

_ Your father is _fine_. That's what we want you to know before you read the story tomorrow. I'll write you again soon. Hope your first day at school went well._

_ Love,_

_ Mum_

Albus set the paper down on the table and stared into the candle. Scorpius had remained a respectable distance back but nudged his arm after he set down the letter. "Are you all right, mate?"

"My father was attacked today," Albus said, glancing up and meeting his sister's worried gaze.

"What?!" Rose and Dom shrieked at the same time. "What happened?"

"I don't know," he replied, picking up the letter and handing it to the two girls, who seized it and began to skim through it. "He's all right. He was involved in a duel, but he didn't get hurt. Mum says it'll be in the _Prophet _tomorrow. Maybe we'll learn more about it then."

"Who in their right mind attacks an _Auror_?" Scorpius asked, perplexed and horrified. "That's the same as purchasing a ticket to Azkaban!"

"Evidently," Rose stated, finishing the letter and handing it over to the two boys, "someone who is willing to collapse their own house on top of themselves in order to protect whatever it is they were hiding. Whatever Uncle Harry was there looking for."

"What was he looking for?" Evan demanded. "And what in today's magical world could be so important that someone whom an Auror was looking for would kill themselves to protect it?"

Albus locked eyes with his sister as his friends pondered Evan's questions, and knew they were thinking the same thing. "_Dark magic is back in the world._" "_Something you don't want falling into the wrong hands_." Maybe the ministry wasn't the only thing that didn't want something of theirs falling into the wrong hands. Lily looked away and Albus shivered. _What is going on?_

"Well, the important thing is that your father is safe and okay, Al," Rose said, and Scorpius patted him on the shoulder.

"Yeah," Albus said, sitting back down at the table and essentially phasing out.

Somewhere nearby his friends were still quietly speculating about what was happening, a conversation they clearly thought he was involved in, but his thoughts were a million miles away. Dark magic. Dark wizards. Secrets. He didn't understand it. He wished his father had let him sit in on the Order of the Phoenix meeting and really hear what was going on. Instead, all he knew was that there might be something dangerous out there in the world again, and he didn't know what it was.

Nor did apparently anyone else. Not his friends. Not even his professors. Was anyone safe?

He had been staring off into space for quite awhile before realizing he'd been unintentionally gazing at Rhysta Malfoy for the second time that day. She and Sidney Acres were seated privately at the Slytherin table, having a discussion in undertones. He said something that made her smile, and she leaned in to kiss him. Albus looked away.

Quidditch. Quidditch. No distractions. Quidditch. No distractions.

But where the Potter family mingled with dark magic, as Albus knew from an instinct he had been born with, there was no such thing as ignoring it. It was no distraction; it defined a Potter's every action. If his friends were in danger, Albus knew which way he would go.

As his friends gossiped and the hour grew later, Albus prayed that Hogwarts was still safe.


End file.
